


things that were, things that are, (things that may yet come to pass)

by jihoonscereal



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Hwang Hyunjin-centric, Lee Felix-centric (Stray Kids), Lee Minho | Lee Know-centric, M/M, Soulmates, all members are in this but some have larger roles than others, dance line centric, felix and hyunjin are best friends!, other idols makes appearances, they're elves!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 90,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27765982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jihoonscereal/pseuds/jihoonscereal
Summary: In which Hyunjin is a prince, Felix is an advisor, and they learn that things are not always as they seem.Especially not Minho, Hyunjin's new bodyguard. He's a mystery they can't quite seem to grasp, a puzzle too difficult to piece together. But that's okay; it doesn't matter.Until it does.
Relationships: Hwang Hyunjin & Lee Felix, Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Lee Felix & Lee Minho | Lee Know, Lee Minho | Lee Know & Yang Jeongin | I.N
Comments: 33
Kudos: 54





	1. i. midnight

**Author's Note:**

> sooooo I know that this is very late given that danceracha's archery pics are over a year old but in my defense I did start this right around when they dropped ;-; it just ended up being way longer than I had ever anticipated it being. if you notice any changes in writing style, that's why hehe this is my baby, so I hope you all enjoy it <3

Word spreads quickly in the woods. 

The first watchman sees the horse as soon as it arrives, golden even in the pale moonlight. It is haloed in light, as though struck by dawn’s first rays, and its rider is no less golden. The two almost seem to produce a glow, like the softened flame of a lantern leading them through the forest. The rider’s face is hidden in a heavy hood, impossible to catch a glimpse of, much less discern. They wear a bow and quiver on their back, and this, coupled with their general unknown status and unusual time of arrival, arises suspicion in the guard. He reaches for an arrow of his own, but though he’s sure he’s silent and well hidden in the trees, the figure stops their horse and tilts their head in his direction. His hand stills, frozen, as something compels him to stop. It isn’t fear, not quite, but more a sudden feeling of presence, an icy feeling prickling at the back of his neck. His hand drops and the rider looks away, sends their horse forward again and is gradually swallowed by the darkness of the trees. This cannot be ignored.

Rumours ignite like wildfire and race through the villages, growing larger and more exaggerated with every new iteration. There was not one rider, but eight, not a soft light but one as bright as the sun, not arrows but axes. Every village that the stranger rides through falls into a hush, watches this stranger with wide, curious eyes. In less than a day, word has spread throughout the entire kingdom. Everyone knows about the new arrival - the new “arrivals” - yet no one seems to  _ know _ them. Nonetheless, every single bit of speculation, every movement, every rumour - true or false as it may be - trickles down to the palace. At first in mere whispers among soldiers, then the servants and attendants, the advisors, and finally even reaches the royal family.

Then, just like that, sightings stop. The rider seemingly vanishes. Whispers buzz like summer bees, the rumour mill works over time, but not even a week after they enter the Forest, they’re nowhere to be found. 

This too cannot be ignored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this starts with shorter chapters but I promise they get really Thicc later on. I also should warn that even though I'm posting a couple chaps all at once now, I don't actually have this whole thing done yet, so I can't promise any consistent updates because there's a lot of factors that go into my productivity BUT I am hoping that december will be a bountiful month since my semester will be done, and that january will be light in terms of course work


	2. ii. dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _but it's so easy in this blue, where everything is good_ \- lorde, buzzcut season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings apply as far as I know aside from a very brief mention of blood at the end, but if you ever think something should be added, please let me know <3   
> I should mention that there is religion in this fic, but it's not intentionally based on any real one so any similarities are accidental and not meant to be disrespectful or to copy in any way

“Where do you think they went?” Felix asks excitedly the morning after the news breaks, throwing himself onto Hyunjin’s bed and forcing a loud, raspy expletive from his mouth. The foul word does not suit him.

“My  _ lungs _ ,” Hyunjin wheezes as he pushes himself up onto his arms and slides Felix off his back. “I need those, Felix.”

“Well, perhaps if you did not sleep like the dead…” Felix throws open the curtains and the warm gold of dawn streams in. Hyunjin groans, squints at Felix in some half-assed attempt at a death glare, and covers his face with a pillow. Felix frowns, tugs at the pillow. Hyunjin clutches it like something precious. 

“I said,” Felix tugs harder, “where do you think they went?” The pillow muffles Hyunjin’s response. Though Hyunjin’s morning musings are often less than coherent, Felix likes to think the best of him and chooses to assume that he asks, “who cares?” 

“I care,” he announces, triumphantly yanking the pillow off Hyunjin’s face. “Most of the kingdom cares. And you should too.” With a grumble of protest, Hyunjin sits up, staring at the far wall like he’s never seen it before in his life. Then, slowly, his head turns to Felix and confusion crosses his face.

“Who are we talking about?”

“The golden riders!” Felix throws up his hands in exasperation. With a long sigh in the general direction of a still somewhat asleep Hyunjin, he tosses an apple at him. It hits his chest with a light  _ thud _ and rolls onto the sheets. “But nevermind that; there’s to be an assembly on it today and your parents want you present.” Hyunjin doesn’t move. “That means you should get dressed, Hyunjin.”

“When is it?” Hyunjin gives his pillow a longing look. He’d been having a nice dream before Felix had crushed his lungs.

“High-sun.”

“Then I have plenty of time.” He pouts at Felix. “Why would you wake me so early?” 

“Because,” Felix crosses his arms, “you’re supposed to be more involved in these affairs.”

“I don’t follow.”

“What do you know of the situation?” Hyunjin is tellingly silent and Felix sighs, turning to Hyunjin’s dresser and rifling through a drawer. “That’s my point. No one will respect you if you have nothing to say. You have to give people something to respect and I-” Felix throws a bundle of clothes towards Hyunjin, “- am supposed to help you get to that point. Anything to show that you care about the issue being brought forward.” He sighs again, but it’s softer, more resigned than anything. “This is to be your kingdom someday. I know you care, but you could stand to put in a little more effort. It isn’t me you need to impress.”

“Minhyun’s kingdom,” Hyunjin corrects because technically, it’s the truth. Though they will co-rule, Minhyun will clearly be the dominant presence. The  _ real _ king, even if Hyunjin shares the title. But Felix fixes him with an unamused look and Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “Fine.  _ Our _ kingdom.”

“Meet me in the Great Hall when you’re dressed.” The door clicks shut behind Felix and Hyunjin begrudgingly rolls out of bed. At least golden riders sound far more interesting than tariffs. 

  
  


Hyunjin has always been thankful for Felix. Firstly, as his best friend, and secondly, as the best adviser he could ask for. Felix always has one ear to the ground, a finger on the pulse of the kingdom. He provides a bridge to the villages in a way most other advisers in the palace do not and after spending an entire morning telling Hyunjin everything he knows and has heard about the “golden riders,” Hyunjin feels prepared for this meeting. In knowledge, at least, if not in spirit. He prays to every god he knows to give him the patience to sit through nearly an hour of long winded, unnecessary speeches. But not even the gods can give him that long of an attention span.

"Should we not search for them?" The captain of the guard is asking when Hyunjin finds it in him to tune back in, tapping his index finger on the table. “I worry that they may pose a threat.” The king and queen’s eyes shift to Hyunjin and his brother, brows raising just the tiniest bit to encourage them to speak. But behind the genuine urging, there’s also curiosity, an intention to gauge their responses and ideas. 

And, of course, a silent expectation of participation.

Hyunjin is  _ really _ thankful for Felix.

“Surely your guards would already have picked up a trace of them,” Minhyun speaks before Hyunjin even has the chance to open his mouth. Older, wiser, and keenly interested in kingdom affairs, he needs little encouragement. “Would it not be a waste of time to devote more men to the task? Besides, the riders are hardly more than a rumour; I’ve heard so many different versions of the story that at this point they seem more fiction than fact.”

“We do not even have a reason to believe they  _ do _ pose a threat,” Hyunjin pipes up. “From what the people have said, they were hardly hostile.” Out of the corner of his eye he catches Felix nod slightly at him in approval. The captain purses his lips slightly.

“Indeed, but we know nothing about them. Their arrival and disappearance are too strange to simply be ignored. Every rumour starts somewhere.”

“We know they are Elves,” Hyunjin argues. This Felix had assured him of; every report mentioned this fact, almost made it a point to bring it up. 

“We do not.” The captain purses his lips. “As Prince Minhyun has said, everything we know aside from their arrival and disappearance is a rumour; it is a baseless claim.”

“Even if they were, not all Elves have good intentions,” the king says. “We may be at peace, but it never hurts to be wary.”

“The fact that we are no longer aware of their presence certainly does not inspire comfort,” the queen rubs her jaw thoughtfully, “but I do think the princes have a point.”

“With all due respect, I hardly think the princes have the experience to deal with this matter.” The captain eyes Minhyun and Hyunjin skeptically. “They are too young to understand the dangers of this world.” That’s hard to argue with. He’s right; the last true danger to their kingdom was centuries before either of them were born.

“And you,” Minhyun retorts without missing a beat, “are too old to realize that not everyone would seek to hurt us.” The room falls into silence as the captain gapes at Minhyun, more shocked than upset, but mostly struggling to process the fact that anyone would talk back to him. In the end, it’s Minhyun who has to break the quiet, realizing no one else will.

“The people are saying they are the Blessed.” Hyunjin’s brows shoot up. “And if that is the case, it is a sign of fortune, not danger.” He turns to Felix with a betrayed look. Felix conveniently does not meet his eyes.

“Prince Minhyun, we do not deal with speculation of this kind here.” The captain has regained himself, but he, like everyone else in the room, can’t help but to cast an uneasy look around. “We will treat these riders as real people, not those of questionable existence.”

It goes on like this for a while more, a back and forth of what measures are too extreme - all, in Minhyun’s opinion - and which are appropriate. Hyunjin drops out of the discussion in favor of glaring at Felix, who manages to look everywhere in the room except at Hyunjin. When a decision that Hyunjin couldn't care less about is reached, he is the first to stand and march out of the room, grabbing Felix by the shirt and tugging him along with him into the first empty room he finds.

“You lied to me!” Hyunjin points at his adviser accusingly. Felix smooths his shirt and pushes Hyunjin’s hand down, clearing his throat.

“I did no such thing,” he says without an ounce of guilt. “Everything I told you was the truth.”

“You didn’t tell me they were the Blessed!” At this, Felix’s expression tightens.

“Speculated to be," he corrects tersely. "An omission of information is not a lie.” The fire in Hyunjin’s eyes does not dim. “I had my reasons.”

“I’m sure you did,” Hyunjin scoffs, “but you know how I feel about this.” Felix has heard Hyunjin ramble about the Blessed for years upon years, has humored him in rereading the same stories over and over until both of them could recite them from memory, even when Felix stopped believing in them. It is Felix who has listened to Hyunjin’s wish to join them - a childhood dream he has never quite given up on.

“Yes, Hyunjin, I do,” Felix doesn’t sound angry, never angry, but he’s verging on irritated, “and  _ that _ is exactly why I didn’t tell you. Do you no longer think that I have your best interest in mind? Because you are free to find a new adviser anytime you want.” At this, the heat in Hyunjin fades.

“Of course not.”

“Do you really trust me?” 

“Yes!” Hyunjin’s eyes widen. “How could I not?” Then, quieter: “You know I do.”

“Then let me do my job,” Felix’s hands fall, heavy, onto Hyunjin’s shoulders, “and know that everything I do for you has a reason.” His head falls forward and Hyunjin’s falls to meet it with a soft  _ thunk _ . Silence looms over them, too big for the small room, until Hyunjin finally nods, tiny and only once. 

“Come on then,” Felix pulls back and jostles Hyunjin lightly, all seriousness gone, throwing open the door and his arm around Hyunjin, “let’s get in some target practice. Heaven knows you need it.” He pushes Hyunjin away from him and runs full tilt at the sound of an offended gasp. Hyunjin chases him, hurling weak insults that aren’t truly meant to hurt the whole way until they make it outside. Everything is forgiven and everything is forgotten and things are like they always are.

Felix and Hyunjin. Hyunjin and Felix. Easy. Warm. Content. Settled. Like silt at the bottom of a lazy brook. That’s how it is.

How it will always be.

But forgetting is not always for the better. Nor is not paying attention to an important meeting for the sake of glaring at your advisor, as Hyunjin discovers two days later.

He’s staring down the field at a target, frowning as if that will somehow move the arrow closer to the bullseye. Felix had bet him 50 silver pieces he could beat him in an archery competition and Hyunjin is currently down by eight. 

_ “I  _ never _ practice, _ ” Hyunjin quietly mimics Felix, currently fetching an arrow Hyunjin had sent flying past the target and too far away to hear, “ _ I don’t even like archery that much. _ ” Doesn’t practice his ass. Hyunjin knows Felix isn’t naturally talented at archery, and sure, maybe Hyunjin isn’t either, but there’s no way Felix should be beating him right now. Hyunjin actually  _ does _ practice. Sometimes. Less than he should. But more than Felix. 

He nocks another arrow and lets it fly. A seven. He lets out a puff of air.

“Not bad.” Hyunjin will deny the undignified squeak of surprise he lets as he whirls around to find a stranger watching him, the corners of his lips just barely curling up in amusement. “You should straighten your back more.”

“Who are you?” He blurts. This isn’t just someone Hyunjin doesn’t know the name of - it’s someone he’s never even  _ seen _ . Elves are fabled for their beauty - the poetry and prose of Men seemingly incapable of finding one ugly - but this one seems exceptional even with such a standard. He reminds Hyunjin of one of those marble statues of ancient heroes more than a living breathing person, with features that at first seem sharp and cold as stone, but have something indescribably gentle and soft to them. The elf stands proudly, confidently, a bow and arrows slung across his back that look so natural Hyunjin might think he’d been born with them, but something about him seems off. Hyunjin doesn’t mean this in a bad way - no, he feels no ill from the stranger, rather a feeling of comfort exudes from him - simply in an observatory manner. 

“Minho,” the stranger supplies, head cocked and his amused grin only growing. His voice is much gentler than Hyunjin had expected. “Your bodyguard.”

“I don’t have a bodyguard.” Hyunjin frowns. “I don’t  _ need _ a bodyguard.” What sort of prince can’t defend himself? Hyunjin might not be the best archer, but he’s a capable swordsman. A bodyguard is useless, just a fancy name for a babysitter if you ask him. A hand lands lightly on his shoulder: Felix returning with the arrow. 

“Your parents orders,” he fills in. “The compromise at the meeting was increased security, which includes bodyguards for you and Minhyun.” Hyunjin’s face scrunches up.

“Well, as long as Minhyun is getting one too, I suppose.” 

Felix directs his attention to Minho. “I’m-”

“Yongbok.”

“-Felix.” The two of them blink at each other. Felix’s fingers press into Hyunjin’s shoulder ever so slightly. Minho’s head tilts a bit and an apologetic smile etches itself onto his face as he places a hand over his heart and inclines his head.

_ “Why do you help me?” _

_ “Because we promised.” Pinkies linked, thumbs pressed together. Younger. “We’re going to make it to the palace someday.” A smile; bright, eyes folded into half moons. “Together.” _

_ Like he’s underwater - blurry, fuzzy, unclear. Too close, yet too far. Felix can make out the words but can’t hear the voice. Teeth give way to a frown. Eyes widen. Curious, worried. He knows, but he can’t see.  _

_ Why does he know? _

_ Farther away now. Slipping away. A face he cannot picture, a name he cannot find. Swallowed by the green of the forest. Or is it just the dark?  _

_ “You remember, don’t you,” small, fading, “Yongbokie?” _

_ Alone. _

_ He doesn’t. _

“Felix. Forgive me, you just…” a confused look crosses Minho’s face, just for a moment, “well, I suppose you must remind me of someone. I think.” 

“You are not one of our soldiers, are you?” Hyunjin takes in Minho, all unfamiliar features and light golden-brown hair that reminds Hyunjin of a summer sunset (this, he thinks, must be the oddity he’d immediately felt upon seeing Minho; as far as he’s aware, all elves have dark hair), clothed not in the fiery tones of his kingdom’s guard, but in white and gold and silver, a rich red cloak fastened around his neck with a pin shaped like a leaf. Around his bicep, he’s tied a shimmering strip of aureate cloth, a small metal emblem in the shape of a sun fixed in the center. It’s a get-up Hyunjin doesn’t recall ever seeing, not even from visiting dignitaries. Gold seems to somehow be threaded into everything, catching the sunlight with every movement, and with the sun behind him, Hyunjin can’t help but to think that Minho is glowing. Even Minho’s bow is inlaid with gold.

He entrenches himself in it, in the same way Hyunjin and his family avoid it. Gold is the color of gods. It does not belong to elves like them. At least not in the capacity that Minho wears it.

“Indeed,” Minho answers brightly, “I come from the Kingdom of Light.” Hyunjin’s brows shoot up beneath his hair and he lets out a low whistle, trying to keep his excitement at bay. The Kingdom of Light is a thing of legend, said to be the birthplace of the First Elves, from which all others are descended. It is the home of gods, and its inhabitants are no less hailed. _Exceptional,_ the rumours say, _as ethereal as the god of light himself_. They are rarely, if ever, seen or heard from, leading most to believe that they really are just a myth, like the kingdom itself. Hyunjin has only ever known the heroes of old, the stories of their history every elfling knows by heart. But this is not what Hyunjin cares about.

“The Kingdom of Light isn’t real.” Felix’s eyes narrow slightly. “You expect us to believe you? Do the king and queen know about this?”

“Felix!” Hyunjin hisses. Hyunjin believes in it; believes that it’s real. Felix knows that.

“It is as real as any other kingdom.” If Minho takes offense at Felix’s doubt, he doesn’t show it. “Why would I lie to you? I have nothing to gain from it. I would not be allowed here if the king and queen did not know, do you not think?”

“Is it true that-” Felix jabs Hyunjin in the side, cutting him off.

“I will believe you if you can prove it.” Though there’s a confrontational edge to his voice, Minho doesn’t take the bait.

“Believe me, do not believe me; it makes no difference to me.” He shrugs slightly. “I am here to do my job. Nothing more, nothing less.” His attention shifts to Hyunjin. “Worry not, Your Highness, I will not get in your way if you do not want me to.” Hyunjin cringes inwardly. 

“Just Hyunjin is fine, Minho.” Minho dips his head the tiniest bit.

“As you wish, Hyunjin.” It makes Hyunjin feel oddly warm hearing Minho say his name, like a blanket has been wrapped around him. The same comfort that exudes from him laces his voice. It’s a strange phenomenon, one he hasn’t felt before. 

“I think I’m still missing an arrow,” Felix looks at Minho, purposeful. “Could you see if you can find it?” Minho blinks at him once, then twice, as though trying to figure out the angle Felix is playing, then nods.

“I will try.”

“Great, thank you,” Felix smiles, but Hyunjin can see the lack of sincerity. As soon as Minho is far enough away that he should be out of earshot, Felix turns to Hyunjin. “I don’t trust him.”

“The Yongbok comment really got under your skin, huh?” Hyunjin huffs. “You know him or something?”

“That’s the thing,” Felix frowns in thought, thumb rubbing the side of his index finger, “I’m not sure. I shouldn’t, but no one’s called me Yongbok in decades.” His brow furrows. “Not since I left home.”

“It could have been a lucky coincidence.”

“Yeah,” Felix looks out towards the woods, “maybe.” But Felix doesn’t believe in coincidences, this Hyunjin knows.

“That’s not enough to not trust him though,” Hyunjin says. “He seems all right to me.”

“Well, that’s just it. He seems so trustworthy, there’s just no way he is.”

“You sound paranoid,” Hyunjin sighs. There’s a pause. “You shouldn’t have accused him of lying.”

“Hyunjin, come on-”

“It’s rude.”

“You just want it to be the truth.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Felix gives him a long look, like he wants to say something he knows Hyunjin won’t like. 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” is all he says. Minho emerges from the forest, shockingly holding an arrow despite Felix having lied about missing one. 

“I’m not a child, Felix,” Hyunjin says quietly. “I think I could handle the truth.”

“Sometimes it is better to live happily with a lie.” Felix’s hand finds Hyunjin’s and he squeezes it gently. “Don’t ask him.” 

So Hyunjin doesn’t, just leaves the words sitting on his tongue until they sink in. 

It’s easier than he’d thought.

True to his word, Minho does stay out of Hyunjin’s way - at least at first. His presence is both easy to forget about and impossible to miss. He’s always  _ there _ \- in a weird way, Hyunjin can almost sense him. Felix expresses the same feeling - but when he doesn’t speak, he’s little more than a shadow. 

Though Minho could never be a shadow.

It’s like this for nearly a moon. Minho is easy to talk to and get along with, surprisingly amiable despite his quiet seriousness, but they never move past small talk. He is a guard, nothing more. 

Yet there’s something. 

_ Something. _

Felix can’t figure him out. 

No, it’s not that. 

He can’t figure himself out. Felix likes Minho, no matter what Hyunjin will say, but there’s something wrong about this. Something that twists in Felix’s stomach when he sees Minho. 

Sometimes in his heart.

There's always some sort of pull with Minho, an old ache rising in Felix’s chest. It's a conflicted feeling, one he cannot puzzle out entirely, and one that he cannot put into words. He doesn't know where it's coming from - why  _ Minho  _ is causing it - only that avoiding him is clearly the best way to settle the discomfort. 

So though Minho has done nothing wrong, Felix gives him a subtle cold shoulder. At least, he thinks it’s subtle. Until Minho approaches him in the library, without Hyunjin. 

“You do not trust me,” he says and Felix abruptly looks up from the book he’s reading. 

“What?”

“You do not trust me,” Minho repeats. Felix studies his face, trying to see through the carefully blank look. Minho doesn’t seem angry about it, just says it matter of factly. 

“No, I do not,” Felix agrees. He wants to, can feel himself being reeled in just by being around Minho. But he stands firm. Things are too odd...and Minho too conveniently easy to trust. And if Hyunjin won’t be wary, then Felix will.

“I do not wish to take him from you, you know.” That isn’t what Felix expects him to say. He’d expected some curiosity, maybe even defensiveness. “I am just doing as I was told.”

“I didn’t think you were going to,” Felix frowns, confused. “I don’t care about that.”

“Oh.” Minho blinks. “Have I done something wrong then?”

“No.” More blinking. 

“I do not want to be at odds with you,” Minho says, quieter. “Hyunjin tells me you two are a package deal.” His eyes soften a bit. “I quite like you, Felix, even if you do not like me, but I can only protect you if you let me.” 

_ “And I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you anyway.” Worry. Worry. Worry. Felix’s stomach is in knots. Something feels wrong. “I’ll protect you.”  _

_ Gone.  _

_ Gone.  _

_ Gone.  _

_ “I promise.” _

_ Gone. _

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Felix mumbles. “Look, Minho, it's not that I don't like you, I just… I don't know." He flounders for words that remain just out of reach. Too many thoughts, too many mixed emotions. It's too hard to shift through them all and give them names, give them substance. 

"Felix." Minho reaches across the table and gently taps Felix's hand. His index and middle finger rest lightly on Felix's knuckles; only the tiniest amount of contact. Felix doesn't hate it. Actually, he finds that the gesture causes warmth -  _ comfort _ \- to spread through his body, running through his veins like gold. Minho's fingers are unnaturally warm, as though he is a fire, in a way that should almost be unpleasant, but somehow isn't. Felix's mind quiets. "I will leave you alone, if that is what you want. Hyunjin will understand." 

But that's not what Felix wants. Somehow, he can't bear that. 

"No," he shakes his head. "I'm just… I don't see why you would want to protect me. I'm not Hyunjin; I'm not anyone important. I'm just an advisor. It will just be more work for you." This, at least, he can find the words for.

"Why should that matter?" Minho's brows knit slightly and he gives Felix a long look. "You are important to Hyunjin."

"Did he ask you to do this?"

"No." Minho shrugs. "I feel that I must."

"I don't want to be an obligation to you." Felix frowns. "I'm not a burden."

"I misspoke," Minho says quickly. "You are not an obligation, but a choice. I feel a sense of duty to you, a feeling of familiarity I must protect. As though I owe you or something." There's something Felix would classify as confusion in his eyes as he says this, like Minho feels it but does not understand why. Felix knows what that's like. 

“We hardly know each other.”

“I did not say it made sense.” The trace of a smile crosses Minho’s face, a flash of determination replacing the confusion. “I  _ want _ to do this, Felix.” 

“Hyunjin will still come first?” Minho nods and there’s slight relief Felix didn’t know he needed. Hyunjin is the prince, but more than that, he’s Felix’s friend. At this point, he has basically become Felix’s world. Anything for Hyunjin.

Everything for Hyunjin.

“He must be. But,” Minho wastes no time in clarifying, “I will not push you aside because of that. I am capable of doing this.” Felix meets Minho’s eyes. Dark. Infinite. “Trust me.”

“All right,” Felix relents, “I will try.”

And once he lets himself, it really isn’t so hard.

  
  


Minho fits easily with Hyunjin and Felix, nestling into their already existing friendship like they’ve known him for years. His company is nice and soon small talk turns to real talk, staying practically out of sight to being within a few feet of them. He even starts wearing the clothes of their kingdom’s guard, upon Hyunjin’s insistence ( _ “You’re one of us,”  _ he’d said with a bright grin, presenting Minho with the warm, fiery colors and dark cloak,  _ “for now at least.” _ ), though he still keeps the golden cloth tied around his arm. It really does feel like he’s settling in. Minho still watches more than anything, always watches, but now it’s with something akin to fondness in his eyes. 

And sometimes humour, like now, as he watches them bicker over whether Hyunjin made Felix mess up his shot or not. 

“You did it on purpose!” Felix is accusing, jabbing Hyunjin in the chest. “You cheated!”

“For the last time, I didn’t sneeze on purpose! How would I even do that?” Hyunjin’s arms are folded, resolute in his innocence. “You’re just mad I won!”

“Because you won unfairly!”

“Sore loser!” Hyunjin sticks out his tongue. “You just can’t shoot.”

“I shoot better than you do,” Felix retorts.

“Then you’d win, wouldn’t you?”

“I  _ do _ win!” Felix throws up his hands. “But not when you cheat!” 

“Pay up, loser.” Hyunjin lunges for Felix, who easily shoves him back. “Don’t be so stingy, come on.” 

“You’re the  _ prince _ , how can you call  _ me  _ stingy? You have more money than I do.” Now Felix leaps for Hyunjin, catching him off balance and sending both of them sprawling on the ground. Hyunjin groans as his quiver digs into his back and, larger than Felix as he is, rolls over to lay on top of him and crush him into defeat. 

“Sun above, how many boulders have you eaten?” Felix wheezes beneath him. Hyunjin’s weight pushes his quiver right into his spine, pushes him down harder. At least he isn’t the only one suffering, as the quiver is also driving into Hyunjin’s rib cage. “Minho!” He shouts breathlessly. “Who’s right?”

Minho closes the small distance between them, face full of mirth as he grabs Hyunjin by the tunic and lifts him off Felix like he’s no more than a kitten. “You shot before he sneezed,” he says in amusement. Felix pouts at him, then glares at Hyunjin for attempting to kill him. Hyunjin scampers behind Minho. “You should try not to crush your advisor, Hyunjin,” Minho looks over his shoulder. “We would not want him to screw you over.”

“Felix wouldn’t do that,” Hyunjin peers over Minho at a still glaring Felix, who has yet to get up, “he likes me too much.”

“Who says I wouldn’t? I’m liking you far less right about now,” Felix mutters, pushing himself to his feet and dusting himself off. “I still think you cheated.”

“Minho says I didn’t.” Hyunjin gives Felix a triumphant smile.

“Oh, so if Minho says it then it’s law?” 

“Yes?” Hyunjin blinks at him like it’s obvious.

“Fair enough,” Felix yields. Minho does have an aura of wisdom about him. Even if what he’s saying is utter nonsense, somehow it seems right. 

“You know,” Minho says thoughtfully, eyeing the targets at the far end of the field, “if you two wanted, I could help you practice.”

“Are you saying we’re bad?” Hyunjin pouts despite the fact that Minho can’t see his face.

“Not in those words,” Minho sounds cheerful, as if he isn’t kindly insulting them. “You are not  _ bad _ , you just… could be better.”

“And  _ you’re _ better?” Felix raises a brow at Minho. They’ve never actually seen him shoot; never had a reason to in his brief time here. 

“You think I would have this job if I was not?” Minho meets Felix with an arched brow of his own. He’s verging on cocky. Felix jerks his head towards the target, still littered with his and Hyunjin’s arrows, which means Minho will have to shoot around them. Minho practically lights up and gone is the cockiness, replaced with a genuine happiness. Though that shifts as he grabs his bow and notches an arrow, face turning deadly serious. 

It’s different than when Hyunjin and Felix shoot, they can tell that immediately. This isn’t someone who shoots just for fun every so often, who spent his archery lessons fooling around rather than really paying attention. Minho’s entire aura has changed. No more is there a quiet sureness to him, but one that can be seen in every tensed muscle and line on Minho’s face. 

Minho exudes power, unlike he ever has before. Feels almost larger than life, like his very existence fills all the space around them. 

Inhale. 

Minho is steady, still as stone. 

Exhale. 

He releases the arrow, which flies unwaveringly straight into the center of the target, embedding itself deeper than any of the others. No sooner has the arrow left his bow then Minho is nocking another and sending it flying once more. Another bullseye, directly beside the first. He goes again, and again, and again, with speed and accuracy Hyunjin and Felix have never seen and their mouths drop open at the sight. Minho shoots with unfailing assurance that he will meet his mark and he does. Each and every time. His cockiness is far from unfounded. 

“We get it,” Hyunjin says once he manages to regain control of his mouth. “You’re a prodigy.” Minho’s ears turn pink and he looks… bashful? 

“I have not practiced like this in a while… I think my aim could have been better.” As if he didn’t just make five bullseyes in a row in under a minute. 

“How much better do you want to be?” Hyunjin can’t imagine what that would mean. “If you were any better you could be Blessed.” Minho’s head tilts and his eyes widen a bit, small frown on his face.

“What?” Felix gives Hyunjin a miniscule shake of his head, but it goes ignored. 

“You know, Blessed? The Light’s chosen archers? Since you’re from the Kingdom of Light and all…” Hyunjin blinks at Minho. “You don’t know?”

“I know the myth,” Minho shakes his head, “but that is all it is as far as I am aware. I have never met one.”

“Oh.” Hyunjin’s face falls a bit. 

“All myths come from something,” Minho adds, as though he senses Hyunjin’s disappointment. There's something decidedly careful about the way he continues. “Elves from my kingdom all have light hair and shoot well, much like the legends. Back in the day, that may have been too out of the ordinary to be explained by anything less than myth.” He shrugs. “Or perhaps it was just a lie everyone believed and so was passed down. Regardless,” he ruffles Hyunjin’s hair, light smile on his face, “believe what you will, so long as it does not hurt you.” Hyunjin gives him a tiny smile, just briefly until Minho heads over to the target.

“You okay?” Felix asks, watching Hyunjin carefully. A frown pulls at his lips.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin sighs, “I’m fine.” His lips quirk in a half smile. “He didn’t say they didn’t exist; just that he’s never met one.” Felix lets out a flat hum.

“Still…” 

“Felix, it’s fine. I guess I should have expected it. Like you said: I got my hopes up. You can say you told me so.” Hyunjin gently hits Felix on the arm, more a light nudge than a real hit. “I’m a grown up; I can handle a little disappointment.”

“You sure you are?” Felix teases, hand falling lightly on Hyunjin’s shoulder and Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “Seriously though, don’t get too bummed about it. Minho doesn’t know everything.”

“I know that.” They turn to watch him as he pulls the arrows from the target. “Guess I just thought if anyone would know it would be him, you know. He’s got the hair, he’s from the right kingdom, he shoots well… I was too caught up in the prospect that maybe he knew - or was one of them - that I made myself believe my assumptions.” Hyunjin swears he sees an arrowhead slice into Minho’s hand, but Minho doesn’t so much as flinch so he just shakes his head and assumes his mind is playing tricks on him. “Minho is Minho. I should see him as such.” Not as a myth, not just as his kingdom. Just as Minho. As any other elf.

“It is about time for lunch, is it not?” Minho asks, returning hands full of arrows. “Here.” He hands Felix and Hyunjin their respective white and black fletched arrows. His own are a warm reddish-brown, not unlike leaves in the fall. 

“Minho, your hand!” Hyunjin’s brows immediately furrow and he grabs Minho’s hand, turning it palm up. So he  _ had  _ seen him cut himself. The gash is fairly shallow, though long, but it bleeds noticeably. Minho just blinks as he looks down, as though he doesn’t even realize. 

“Oh,” is all he says. He looks at the cut blankly, not even the faintest sign of any feeling on his face. It should hurt. It should. Or at the very least sting. Minho is frighteningly calm. Too calm as he stares at it. Too calm as he places his other hand over the gash. There’s brief, weirdly tense silence between the three of them, then Minho removes his hand and smiles, holding his now uninjured hand up to face Hyunjin and Felix and wiggling his fingers. “All better.” He wipes it in his tunic, removing the remaining blood. “Now then, where were we? Lunch?” 

Strange. 

Hyunjin files the information away for safekeeping.


	3. iii. sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _the lights illuminating your eyes, they're the me of now_ \- v, inner child

Hyunjin begins to notice things. Small and inconsequential day to day, but when he looks at the bigger picture, they just don’t seem right. Even Felix starts to pick up on them.

Minho is an Elf, but they start to wonder if he isn’t something else as well. Half Fae, or something like that. Though Fae look different - and Minho has no characteristics that aren’t elfin - they do not share the same biological needs as Elves. So it would suit Minho, who, for starters, Hyunjin never sees eat more than a bite or two, and only if he sees Hyunjin or Felix watching him. 

“Do you not like the food here?” Hyunjin asks him one day, watching Minho with worried eyes as he barely even looks at his own plate. Minho tilts his head in question. “You do not eat.”

“It is all right,” Minho shrugs. “Enjoyment is not important to me.” He catches sight of Hyunjin’s frown and sends him a reassuring smile in response. “I eat when I am off-duty; it would be unprofessional of me to eat on the job. I promise, Hyunjin.” Hyunjin purses his lips, but says nothing more. Minho does not seem to lose weight or energy, so Hyunjin accepts this answer, just files this all away as well. 

( _ Is Minho ever really off duty? _ He wonders. Hyunjin never dismisses him; they just go their separate ways once Hyunjin goes to bed. Is that enough?)

“I saw Minho in the courtyard the other day,” Felix whispers quietly some days later, when the two of them are laying on Felix’s bed, arms dead tired and fingers blistered from hours of target practice with Minho. The sun is setting, a dark gold filling the room. It feels out of place to speak much louder in the steadily dying light. 

“So?” Hyunjin continues staring at the ceiling, each blink longer and longer until his eyes slide shut. The light washes over him like a blanket, beckoning him with sleep. It reminds him of Minho: warm. Safe. 

“It was the middle of the night,” Felix continues, turning his head to look at Hyunjin, whose eyes open sluggishly. He’s quiet for a long moment, stares up like he’ll find his words in the ceiling. “Don’t you think that’s weird?”

“Was he doing anything?” Hyunjin’s fingers trace mindless shapes in Felix’s sheets - the thoughtfulness his drowsy voice can’t express. Felix turns his head back to join Hyunjin in ceiling gazing. 

“Don’t know; I saw it through the window on my way back from the library.” He pauses, frowning in thought. “I think he was just staring at the sky.” Hyunjin makes a small sound of acknowledgement in the back of his throat.

“He does that.” Felix runs his tongue over his teeth. That’s true; Minho frequently just stares up into the bright blue day. Or into the sun. They’re not really sure how he can do that for so long without squinting even a little. 

“But the middle of the night?” Hyunjin frowns minutely. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” He tries. 

“Maybe,” Felix sighs. “He looked like he was still wearing his normal clothes though.” Another pause. “This isn’t the first time,” he admits, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He can hear the sheets shift beneath Hyunjin’s head as he turns towards Felix. “I didn’t want you to worry,” Felix says in anticipation of the question he knows Hyunjin is about to ask. “Or encourage your weird conspiracy theories.” Hyunjin purses his lips. 

“How many times?” 

“I don’t pass by every day, so I don’t know. I’ve seen him four. If he’s not there, sometimes I see him standing guard outside your room.” Felix shrugs. 

“He’s not supposed to.”

“I know. I asked him about it. Not about the courtyard, but about standing guard.” Hyunjin is silent, waiting. “Said he was just doing his duty.”

“You bought that?” The room is dim now, enough that Hyunjin loses the detail in Felix’s face. 

“I don’t know,” Felix sighs. “Not really, but what can I do about it? It doesn’t seem to affect him; he’s more rested than you are and you sleep so well the dead would envy you. Besides, I think Minho might really think it  _ is  _ his duty.” Hyunjin sits up with effort, the sheets clinging to him with the much welcomed invitation of sleep. 

“And you?” He asks softly. “Why are you awake at those hours?” He studies Felix carefully. Though detail is lost in the darkness, Hyunjin doesn’t need to see Felix to know about the bags under his eyes. 

“I’m usually going to bed.” Felix pushes himself up as well and threads his fingers with Hyunjin’s. “It’s better, Hyunjin, I swear. Falling asleep is still a slow process, but it’s easier.” His fingertips drum lightly against the back on Hyunjin’s hand. “Actually, since Minho’s been here, I think my sleep has improved overall. It’s weird.”

"Are you sure?" Felix hums. 

"I am." He's hesitant to name Minho as the reason. It doesn't make sense. Minho hasn't done anything really, just existed. Though Felix isn't a big proponent of coincidence, this, he concludes, must just be one. "I'm hopeful it will continue to." For a moment, there's nothing but the last calls of the birds in between them. Then, a soft knock. 

"Hyunjin," Minho clears his throat, "your parents have summoned you for dinner." Hyunjin stands with a sigh, fingers breaking from Felix's like the tearing of a seam. He stretches stiff, sore muscles.

"I'm coming," he calls back. Felix watches attentively as Hyunjin gives his head a light shake and combs his fingers through his hair to give it some semblance of neatness. If he didn't know better, he'd think Hyunjin was pouting. 

"Don't make that face," he kicks lightly at Hyunjin's shin, "you like family dinners; don't pretend."

"But they're less fun than when you're there." Now Hyunjin really does pout. "I love Minhyun but he's so  _ boring _ ." Felix can't see the look Hyunjin shoots him, but he feels it in his voice. "Don't tell him I said that." Felix crosses his heart dramatically. 

"I wouldn't dare." Now he stands, blinking at the dark spots that overwhelm his vision. It's about time for him to eat as well. "It's only once a week, Hyunjin. You'll survive without me for a few hours. You always do." His lips curl into a smile. "And Minho will still be there, won't he?" 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hyunjin whines. "He won't be, anyway. Family dinner is a "private affair," apparently." He adds finger quotes for emphasis. “Why don’t  _ you _ eat dinner with him?” 

“You know why,” Felix says softly, the light mood in the room shifting. He had asked before, at some point after he and Minho had gotten closer and on a day that Hyunjin was meant to eat with family, but Minho had smiled apologetically and said he couldn’t with some vague excuse of being busy. At the time Felix had just thought he meant that he was with Hyunjin, but if that isn’t the case… well, he’s not sure what Minho does. Avoids him, it seems. 

No, Felix banishes the thought, Minho isn’t the type to do that. At least not to be mean. If he says he’s busy, then he probably is. After all, he does have his own life, his own affairs and interests to attend to. If he spends nearly every waking hour, which for him appears to be all of them, with Hyunjin and Felix, then he’s entitled to some time of his own. There’s nothing wrong with that. 

And if he’s with Felix, then he probably won’t eat anyway. That stupid idea of “being unprofessional.”

Hyunjin frowns.

“Hyunjin,” Minho knocks louder, “you should not keep your family waiting.”

“I know, sorry. I’m coming,” Hyunjin says again. He grabs Felix’s arm and pulls him closer, whispering so Minho shouldn’t be able to hear. “Tell me if you keep seeing him up?” Small worry tinges his voice, worry that he’s spread to Felix over the past few weeks. It’s silly - baseless - as Minho is in better health than they are, with energy that almost seems to halo him, but things like that don’t matter. Hyunjin and Felix are both the type to care deeply; Hyunjin rooted firmly in his heart rather than his head and Felix, though he tries to be level headed as an advisor should be, is almost as bad. And this is Minho they’re talking about. Of course they care.

“Yeah,” Felix agrees, “I will.” He pushes Hyunjin towards the door. “Now  _ go _ .”

(Minho continues to stand guard most nights, but the frequency with which Felix sees him outside, still as a statue, face tilted up to the sky and awash with moonlight, increases. Maybe Felix is just paying more attention. 

Once and only once does Minho move, turns to look up through the window at Felix and makes direct eye contact. 

He means to tell Hyunjin, the words fluttering in his mouth like birds in a cage, but he never seems to be able to find the key to release them. Always the image of Minho staring right at Felix as though he could see straight through him pops into his mind. Always the fluttering turns to feathers that stick in his throat as he swallows. 

So Felix says nothing. )

Other things are smaller; things that might usually mean nothing past an initial note of oddity.

Minho, they discover, is a considerably capable healer, perhaps more so than most. And while that in itself is nothing out of the ordinary - just about all elves can heal to some degree, - it’s entirely different to any healing either of them have ever felt. Hyunjin experiences it first, after he trips over a carelessly discarded bow and gashes his knee open on a rock. Felix does not believe his description of the feeling. He’s been trained in healing, has healed Hyunjin many a time until Minho, and has been healed himself. Healing, at its core, always feels the same.

But then Felix falls from a horse and hears something crack in his arm, pain blooming so brightly his vision goes white. The scream has barely finished echoing before his whole arm is drenched in warmth, white ebbing from his vision as the pain subsides. Minho’s hand is on his arm, face set in concentration, and it’s like Felix’s veins have been set alight as his whole body warms. It almost seems like it should be uncomfortable, like it should burn, but it’s weirdly pleasant. Like sunshine rather than fire. It’s soothing, so soothing...

And so unlike Felix’s healing, which is icy and numbing and frankly not the most gratifying experience for either party involved. 

It’s cold.

So cold. 

Minho could never be cold. 

More than anyone Felix and Hyunjin have ever met, Minho is warm and bright like the sun; blindingly brilliant, with energy so radiant it’s practically visible, as though he’s glowing. As though he really is the sun. Not just his healing, but his whole person is warm. Not in the way all living things are, but in the way a fire is.

But Minho is not a fire.

Minho is not the sun.

Minho is just Minho. There is nothing about him that cannot be explained with logic, Felix is certain. 

Until there is.

“Have you really never been hunting before?” Minho asks as he waits for Hyunjin and Felix to tie up their horses. He doesn’t bother with his own, a pale gold mare named Soonie, who he says he trusts. Whatever that means. 

“We’ve been on hunts,” Hyunjin and Felix exchange a look, “but we haven’t technically “hunted” before.”

“Why go just to watch?” Minho leads the way as they walk through the forest with careful steps, feet making almost no sound. His eyes are trained on the trees ahead; keen. 

“My brother is a much better shot than I am,” Hyunjin tells him, “as are both my parents. So I never had a chance to shoot before them.” Minho hums to indicate his attention.

“Felix?”

“Never really liked it, I guess.” Felix’s head jerks at a quiet rustling and he taps Minho’s shoulder. Minho nods, freezing where he stands. “I have always been more inclined to healing. To kill is…” He makes a face. “Well, you know. Those who kill are not suited to heal and those who heal are not suited to kill.” Minho looks over his shoulder at Felix with an indecipherable look.

“Right. I had forgotten the division we make between the two. I do not think it was ever meant in regards to hunting, if it makes you feel any better.” Something about that is… odd. But it is impossible to dwell on as there is more rustling, and a chirp of sorts. Minho draws an arrow. 

“Quail.” His eyes light up as he looks at Felix and Hyunjin. “You said you wanted to try moving targets, right? I will flush them out for you.”

“But we’ve never done it before!” And looking like a fool in front of Minho is an embarrassment neither of them want. “We’ll miss.”

“You must start somewhere,” Minho points out. “If you never do it, you will never get better. Hunting is the easiest way to practice.”

“Quail are small,” Felix argues, “surely something larger would be better. A deer or something.” His knuckles are white around his bow.

“Deer are harder to find. And harder to kill. You hit a quail once and it will fall. Besides,” Minho aims low and Felix and Hyunjin both go fumbling for their own arrows, “after quail, everything else will be easier.” He releases, sending the arrow straight into a bush a few dozen feet in front of them and sending up a flurry of panicked, squawking quail flying. Felix freezes under the pressure, shoots way too late and hits a tree long after the quail have passed it. Hyunjin is luckier, still missing, but just by a few seconds.

“See?” He pouts.

“For a first attempt, it could have been worse,” Minho assuages. “You can not be static like with normal targets; you have to try to preempt their movement. Shoot where they are going, not where they are.” 

“Easier said than done,” Felix mutters.

“It is. That is why you must practice.” Minho stares deep into the woods ahead of them. “On we go.”

Like the quail have warned their brothers and sisters of the incoming attackers, the woods offer slim pickings. Most of the animals the trio find are squirrels - which aren't worth eating and wasteful to kill - and rabbits, which Minho discourages shooting at. “Traps are better,” he says. So they keep walking.

Minho stops abruptly, practically freezes in place, and Felix and Hyunjin nearly run right into him. 

“What-” Minho hisses a quiet shush and points ahead of them. There, only barely visible among the trees, is a deer. But it’s far, farther than Hyunjin and Felix have ever shot before. Farther than they’ve seen anyone shoot before.

“Can you shoot that far?” Hyunjin asks softly. Minho is already notching an arrow, aiming carefully. 

“Of course,” he exhales. For a moment everything is still, the whole world holding its breath for Minho. 

Then Minho’s fingers loosen, almost against his will and his back curls in on him, arms bending, and he sends the arrow straight into a tree. The deer startles at the loud  _ thunk! _ and the echoing of snapping branches fills the forest as it runs. Minho’s eyes go wide, too wide, as he staggers forward a step, lips parted in a soundless scream. His bow falls from his hands and Minho hits the ground with it. 

There’s seemingly no rhyme or reason to it, no injury Hyunjin or Felix can see as they hurry over to his side, but Minho is clutching his stomach and has curled in on himself, so there must be. His face scrunches up something fierce and as they try to bring his legs away from his chest and move his hands, he starts breaking out into a cold sweat. Minho’s breathing comes in sharp gasps, mouth moves in whimpers of pain and cut off sobs, though occasionally Hyunjin can swear he’s trying to say something. There must be some sort of injury that he’s trying to tell them about. There must be.

But when Felix finally forces Minho’s legs to straighten and Hyunjin tears his arms away from his stomach, Minho - who has been kicked by a horse, had boiling hot soup spilled on him, even cut himself without the faintest trace of feeling - is uninjured. There’s not a single drop of blood to be found on his clothing. Felix and Hyunjin look at each other, baffled, as Minho continues to writhe on the ground. Then, very suddenly, he lets out a choked gasp and his eyes fly open, pupils so wide that his eyes look black, and he wrenches his limbs away from their grasps to wrap his arms around his abdomen again. Minho’s knees tuck in once more, tighter this time, and his head bends until his forehead is touching them. Like this, Felix and Hyunjin almost miss the tears that spill from his eyes. 

“Minho." Felix’s hands hover over him, unsure of what to do - what he  _ can  _ do. He would try to heal him but there’s seemingly nothing _ to  _ heal. “Minho, what’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“Jeongin,” Minho gasps out, voice ragged with anguish. “Jeongin.”

“ _What?_ ” Hyunjin tries to gently place a hand on Minho’s shoulder, in some attempt to reground him, but his fingers press into the fabric with bruising force. Minho has made himself small, like he’s trying to disappear and hide this. Hyunjin won’t let him. _Hyunjin_ _won’t let him_.

“Cannot…” Minho’s head wrenches back, teeth gritted as though bared, and his face scrunches up again as his teeth part in a silent cry of pain. “No.” The word is pulled from his throat, pained with effort. Then, not even a moment later, his eyes are wide again, swimming in fear. “No!” He shouts, a hand flinging out and bunching in the grass. “No! Jeongin!” The tiny sound of tearing grass, Minho’s brow uncreases and his body goes lax. “Jeongin.” This time it’s fragile; tiny and afraid, soaked in a kind of pain Hyunjin can’t find the words to describe but can feel ache in his bones.

“Minho…?” Hyunjin ventures carefully as his fingers release their grip. Minho does not stir, his breathing still comes in short bursts and Hyunjin can see tears running down his face. Gently, he pulls Minho’s upper body into his lap. “Minho?” He tries again, but it’s like Minho can’t hear him. For what feels like forever, all he does is stare up at the sky, unblinking, unseeing, eyes reflecting the never ending blue above them and hands trembling at his sides. Hyunjin pushes a shaking hand of his own through Minho’s sweaty hair and he and Felix exchange a confused, helpless look. Felix takes Minho’s hand, a worried frown deep on his brow, but it’s like there’s nothing they can do. 

Minho’s gaze is infinite, lost in some distant galaxy along with his mind. The tears that drip from the corners of his eyes and splatter on Hyunjin’s legs catch the sunlight, gleam like falling stars. Minho cries silently.

As though he cannot verbalize the pain.

It’s like this for a few agonizing minutes, silent save their breathing, until Minho’s chest finally returns to a steady rise and fall. Slowly, Minho pushes himself to a sitting position, eyes staring vacantly, hauntedly, ahead. Wherever he’s looking, it certainly isn’t here and now. 

“Minho?” Felix tries this time, but to no avail. Minho’s fist clenches around the grass tightly and he lets out a sharp, high whistle - one he uses to call Soonie. He pulls his hand away from Felix’s, stands… and nearly tumbles over, saved only by Felix’s quick reflexes. “What are you  _ doing _ ?” 

“I must go,” Minho’s voice is distant, hazy. 

“But you just-”

“I am fine,” Minho cuts Hyunjin off with a sharp glare. He rubs his empty hand against his forearm absently.

“I’d hardly call this fine,” Felix points out as he releases Minho and steadies him a few stumbles forward later. “You should rest.” And recover from whatever the hell all that was. But Minho shakes his head, looks off at the sound of hoofbeats as a golden Soonie lopes towards them. 

“I must,” he repeats, softly, but with so much conviction and desperation.

“Minho,” Hyunjin draws himself up, invokes his most authoritative voice, “as your prince, I order you not to leave.” He means it as well, every line on his face tense and serious in a way Hyunjin rarely gets. Minho gives him a dull stare, but his words are as cold and hard as ice.

“But you are not my prince, Hyunjin.” That hits Hyunjin like a shot, hurts far more than it should. Minho doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t. Hyunjin tries to find something - bitterness, anger, anything - in Minho’s face, only to come up empty. Felix looks over, face pinched and a hand reaching out to him in comfort for the harsh words. Minho doesn’t mean it, Hyunjin reassures himself again.

Right?

“But I-” he flounders, searches desperately for something that will keep Minho here even as he’s pulling himself onto Soonie’s back. Something more convincing than just him, apparently. “But we need you.” Minho looks down at him.

“Right now,” his voice is still hard, “ _ you _ are not my priority.” The blades of grass fall like snow. Minho’s hand is stained with small streaks of green and dirt has buried itself beneath his fingernails. He looks off somewhere into the distance and his face softens as he looks down to Felix and Hyunjin. 

“I am sorry,” Minho says more gently, “but Jeongin needs me more.” A small frown pulls at his lips. “He  _ needs _ me.” He gathers the reins in his hands, Soonie bunches her neck and snorts, ready to run. “I  _ will _ come back. Hyunjin. Felix. I promise. But I must do this. I must.” A click of his tongue and the gentle press of his heels into Soonie’s side and they’re gone in a fantastic blur golden light, like a shooting star come to earth. Felix and Hyunjin can only watch, hands finding each other and squeezing tightly, conveying what neither of them can bring themselves to say. It’s too much. Too confusing, too worrying, too odd. So Hyunjin wraps it all up as best he can, packages it into something safe. Something easy to say. Something he doesn’t have to think about the meaning behind.

“Who the hell is Jeongin?” 

(Heavy eyelids open to white light. Creeping cold to steady warmth. Minho. Always Minho.

“You came.” Cracked voice, cracked lips, dry throat. Minho smiles gently. 

“Of course I did.” Warm hand on his cheek, featherlight, eyes begin to slide shut. Minho’s head to his. “Who did this to you?” Quiet. Undertones of carefully hidden fury. He knows, but he doesn’t. Recognizes the feeling, but the name is out of reach, mind still drenched in a heavy fog.

“Shadow,” is all he can say. Minho’s hand on the sheets; aching fingers reach for it. Silence. Silence. Silence. “They will come for you too.”

Silence. Heavier now.

Minho knows.)


	4. iv. morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _when I sadly hold out my hand, the child runs away. so I hold onto the empty air by myself_ \- iu, dear name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight tw for a nongraphic injury in Felix's dream

“Hyunjin.” A coin hits him right in the forehead, bringing Hyunjin out of his mind and blinking at Felix, leaning on the table a few feet in front of him. There are papers strewn in front of him, covered in writing Hyunjin recognizes as Felix’s and some that isn’t. Felix looks annoyed.

No, not annoyed. Tired, deeply stressed, and worried, but not really annoyed. After over half a century of friendship, Hyunjin reads him well. Still, in the back of his mind, he knows that he would be annoyed at himself. Knows his parents are, tired of his moping over a bodyguard. Just a bodyguard.

He can hear their frustration in clipped questions when they see Hyunjin alone.

“Are you even listening?” Felix sighs, pressing his fingers to his temples. Hyunjin would bet money he’s been having trouble sleeping again. He takes another look at the papers and makes out something about taxes and tensions on trade. Guilt rises, bubbles in his throat knowing how hard Felix works to make his reports and knowing that he should know these things if he’s to be a good king one day, but Hyunjin just can’t focus.

“Sorry,” he looks down into his lap, knits and unknits his fingers. Minho’s just a bodyguard. “Sorry, I just…”

“I know.” Felix. Wonderful, understanding Felix. Even if he seems more put together, Hyunjin can tell he’s thrown off too. His way of dealing with it is just to throw himself into reports and distract himself. “You want to hit something?”

“Something” turns out to be Felix as the two of them swing wooden training swords at each other, probably with more force than they should. But who cares? At worst they’ll suffer from some bruises. Hyunjin hasn’t sparred since before Minho left and even then, they’d used real swords so they’d been careful, despite Minho’s assurances that Hyunjin could never really hurt him. At the time, Hyunjin had thought it had been a jab at his skill, and while Minho had dodged his strikes as well as any of Hyunjin’s teachers, he’s beginning to think Minho had meant it much more literally. Or not. Clearly Minho _can_ feel pain. 

Hyunjin’s had too much time to think these past few days; spent too much of it thinking about Minho. A bodyguard. Maybe his parents are right. Maybe they’re not. Hyunjin doesn’t want them to be. 

He loses focus, nearly trips over his own foot, and is only saved by some reflex he didn’t know he had, startled back to himself by the clashing of wood mere inches from his face. Felix takes advantage of his momentary lapse to surge forward, making Hyunjin struggle for his balance, and lands a solid jab to Hyunjin’s chest. They break apart, breathing hard, and Hyunjin rubs his sternum with a betrayed look at Felix.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Felix asks quietly, watching Hyunjin carefully. Minho’s only been gone a few days, but there’s a constant anxiety about that. Hyunjin can only make so many excuses when his parents ask why Minho isn’t doing his duty. 

“He promised,” Hyunjin frowns, “he has to.” Then, because he can still feel Felix picking him apart and reassembling him like a puzzle: "Not that I care either way." 

A bald-faced lie. He knows it, Felix knows it, but maybe if Hyunjin says it out loud he can convince himself to believe it. There's no conviction behind it though; empty words for an empty sentiment. 

"Do you?" 

Felix’s mouth twists in thought, in a conscientious effort to sort through the buzz in his head and pick the ones he doesn’t mind giving substance to. 

“I don’t know,” he finally admits. There’s something behind it, something he isn’t telling Hyunjin. Something heavy. It tugs at the corners of his mouth, pulling them down. “I hope so.” For a moment, Felix’s eyes drop to the ground, his fingers pressing against the wooden hilt of his sword. Then he looks back at Hyunjin. “There’s nothing wrong with caring, you know?”

“I know.” Hyunjin can feel cotton settle in his chest. “But I don’t.” Settle in his throat. “Not about Minho.” Settle in his mouth. Sticking, suffocating.

“Yes, you do.” Felix doesn’t mince words, doesn’t beat around the bush. His frown deepens, seeping into his eyes. 

“So do you.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t. Of course I care.” A light breeze ruffles Felix’s hair. He tilts his head, eyes narrowed. “You’re afraid.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m _not_.”

“Hyunjin,” Felix sighs, “I’ve known you half my life. You are.” Hyunjin deflates beneath his gaze. “I get it.” Now this piques Hyunjin’s interest. “It’s easier not to care. Or say you don’t and pretend not to.” There’s another something behind this. Felix’s head tilts up towards the sky. “You can’t run from it forever. Eventually, it’ll just start hurting you. Admit it; maybe not to me, but to yourself.” Hyunjin is quiet for a long time.

“There’s nothing to admit.” The cotton sits like lead. Choking. Sinking. He wishes he could just cough it up, rid himself of the heaviness. Of the feeling. Things would be simpler.

The persistent whisper of Minho not returning, of just leaving Hyunjin - leaving him and Felix, he corrects himself, not just him, Minho isn’t there just for him anymore - wouldn’t hurt. 

“Felix?” A soft hum of question. “What are _you_ running from?” Felix twists his sword left and right, pushing it steadily into the ground as his eyes drop and lips purse.

“Truthfully, I don’t really know.” His brows knit slightly. “It’s like… I’m trying to remember something, but it’s just out of reach and it’s-” he cuts himself off abruptly, shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair. “Sun above, I don’t know. It just keeps bothering me; makes me feel weird.” Hyunjin puts a hand on Felix’s shoulder, squeezes it in earnest comfort.

“Maybe if I hit you hard enough it’ll jog your memory.” His eyes shine with levity, smile cracking through the seriousness. He can feel the cotton subside, retract like a cat’s claws. Stewing in their thoughts is never good for Hyunjin and Felix. That had been why they’d come out here in the first place. To distract them. To get some feelings out. “Or maybe you’ll forget.”

Felix is quiet. For a moment Hyunjin thinks that he’s broken the serious atmosphere too early, joked too soon and made it seem like he doesn’t care about Felix’s feelings. But then Felix shrugs his hand off and smirks at Hyunjin, a mischievous twinkle lighting up in his own eyes.

“It’s cute that you think you’ll hit me.”

Hyunjin swings at him. Felix dances back, laughing. 

Things are easier like _this_. With laughs and light hearts.

( _This_ is what Hyunjin wants to trap in his chest. Warm fire that burns the cotton, melts the lead.

  
  


Every fire goes out eventually.)

  
  
  


On the eighth day, Minho returns.

There’s no fanfare, no frills, no welcome party. Just Hyunjin and Felix, laying on the ground soaking in the summer sun, catching their breath after a sparring match. The air is still, a lethargic, dead sort of heat hanging around them, weighing down their limbs and slowing their minds. They don’t even realize Minho’s back until he stands right in front of the sun, dark silhouette haloed in the gold. 

“I leave and what do I find? You two have become flowers?” He teases with a smile. In an instant, Hyunjin and Felix are on their feet, all but tackling Minho in a fierce hug, sluggishness gone from their bodies. “I suppose you are pretty enough that one might mistake you for them.”

“You came back,” Hyunjin murmurs into Minho’s neck, arms tightening around him.

“I told you I would return,” he responds with a breathy, bemused laugh. 

Warm. So warm.

Sunlight in Hyunjin’s heart, in Felix’s soul. 

“We were worried,” Felix admits. Minho’s hands come up to the back of their heads, fingers threading gently through their hair. Warm.

“I promised, did I not?” Minho’s voice is softer now, steeped in earnesty. “I always keep my promises.”

If something twists in Felix’s gut, he ignores it. 

Eventually, Minho shifts within the tight embrace and they release him. Immediately, they can see his chest expand with a deep breath, relief at not having the life squeezed out of him flickering across his face. Then his face goes serious, troubled almost. A loose fist comes to rest on his heart and he bows to Hyunjin.

“Hyunjin… what I said…” Hyunjin’s brows pinch minutely. “I did not mean it. Forgive me.” Minho bows deeper, fist closing and fingers bunching in his tunic. “I should not have said such a thing. I forgot my place.”

“Minho…” He straightens, looks right into Hyunjin’s eyes. 

“My words were careless,” he continues, “and for that I am sorry.” Another bow, smaller this time.

“It’s really all right,” Hyunjin mumbles, hands on Minho’s shoulders, righting him. 

“You know you are important to me, right?” Minho looks to Felix. “Both of you.”

“We know,” Felix tells him without hesitation.

“Minho,” Hyunjin can’t stop the question he’s been holding in for over a week, “who is Jeongin?” Minho takes a pause at this, a small frown flashing across his face in the wake of several dozen emotions too quick and entangled for Hyunjin or Felix to decipher. It settles into an easy smile, one - Felix and Hyunjin are just now realizing - tinged with weariness. Tinged with heaviness. He seems dimmer.

It’s startlingly wrong. This is Minho. Light. Never weary. 

Bright.

“Jeongin is no one. Do not concern yourselves with him; he is not important.”

“He’s important to you,” Hyunjin points out, searching Minho’s face. Minho’s smile doesn’t fade, pulls tighter if anything. 

Guarded.

“But not to you.” And that’s that. 

The existence of Jeongin has made Felix and Hyunjin realize that for all the time they spend with Minho, they know _nothing_ about him. And, all right, maybe he doesn’t _really_ know all that much about them either, but he certainly knows more than they do. 

He knows Hyunjin’s family, knows Hyunjin enjoys sword fighting, knows he’ll only throw his heart into something he really, truly cares about. 

Or someone.

He knows Hyunjin dislikes dandelion greens. He knows about the “battle wound” Hyunjin has from running straight into a table during a game of tag a century ago, knows Hyunjin adores his elder brother and his parents, knows that he’s always wanted a pet dog.

He knows Hyunjin is nearly impossible to wake up in the morning.

Minho knows that Felix’s father is a woodworker and his mother a skilled harp player. He knows Felix comes from a village deep within the kingdom, not too far from the border with the Kingdom Beneath the Stars. He knows Felix moved to the palace almost immediately after he’d reached adolescence, knows he’d originally wanted to be a liaison between Men and Elves before Hyunjin had befriended him. 

He knows Felix likes to jump from interest to interest. Archery for a brief time as a kid, then alliances between Elves and other races, then healing, then Elvish history, and then finally the complex web of politics. He knows it was a healer, Chan, who, having spent time in one of the villages of Men many years aso, gave Felix his name.

 _“Elvish names sit heavy on Men’s tongues_ ,” he’d said. 

Minho knows this too.

Just as he inexplicably knows Felix’s real name, though no one outside of Felix’s village uses it.

He knows Felix has trouble sleeping. 

Felix has no idea how he knows this last fact, just knows that Minho is standing in his doorway, white light of the moon at his back.

“Got tired of listening to Hyunjin snore?” He raises a brow.

“Got tired of staring at me through the window?” Minho counters and Felix’s face heats up slightly. He hopes that Minho can’t see it in the pale light. 

“I don’t stare.” Minho gives him a leveling look. Felix ducks his head. “You know about that, huh?”

“I know about many things, Felix, least of all you staring at me.” Minho shrugs, arrows rustling in his quiver. “Can I come in?”

“Oh,” Felix opens his door wider, “yeah, sure.” Minho enters, eyes wide with interest as he takes in Felix’s room. Felix feels oddly exposed, stands awkwardly by the door as he shuts it softly. His room isn’t anything special, but it is his and he likes to keep it that way. Few people ever come in; aside from the obvious Hyunjin, Felix is pretty sure the only other people are Chan and the head healer, Naeun. So having Minho here is a bit odd for him.

Besides, it’s _Minho_. 

Yet, Minho doesn’t feel exactly out of place either. In the same manner that he has fit into Felix’s life, Minho seems like something that has been lost and found again.

“So,” Felix clears his throat, walks over to Minho, near his desk. He swipes a few papers he’d been working on together in an attempt to neaten up. The papers aren’t particularly important or secret, but Minho doesn’t need to see Felix’s messy word dump of thoughts about the pros and cons of raising iron tariffs. “What brings you here?”

“I wanted to spend time with you.” Minho looks through Felix’s thin balcony curtains, up towards the starry sky. 

“It’s nearly two in the morning.”

“You are awake, are you not?” Well, he’s got Felix there; he’d be hard pressed to contest it.

“The stars are pretty tonight,” Felix says instead, tugging aside one of the curtains for an even clearer view of the velvet blue sky. The stars are pretty, but it isn’t them that he’s looking at. Instead, it’s the galaxies trapped in Minho’s eyes. Twinking. Sparkling. Fathomless. They glimmer with old knowledge, the kind that speaks of wisdom far beyond their years, too old to belong to Minho and yet present nonetheless.

Minho looks up with reverence, eyes wide as though he can’t bear to miss even a single star. And, just for a moment, he loses himself somewhere distant, somewhere lightyears away, within the galaxies. Then Minho looks away, back at Felix, with soft eyes and a playful smile.

“Not as pretty as yours.” He pokes gently at Felix’s cheek, at his freckles, voice light, but not jokey. This combination of teasing and honesty is one Minho has perfected. One that Felix finds himself so familiar with, like he’s been around it for years. It nearly flusters him, but Minho keeps his words just light enough that they don’t. He pushes Minho gently, shakes his head at him.

“Seriously, what do you want?”

“I thought I should check on you.” Minho tells him, eyes now travelling around Felix’s room as if to take it all in properly. There’s no light other than the stars and the single candle Felix had been writing by, now burning low, but Minho studies it with the care he might in daylight.

“Why?” Felix follows Minho as he steps forward towards a dresser and picks up an intricately carved chrysanthemum, studying it. “Coming of age gift,” Felix explains when Minho looks back at him. “My father made it for me.” Minho gives him a short hum, turning it in his hands before replacing it on the dresser. 

“How have you been sleeping?” He asks quietly, carefully. There’s a breath, a silence just a beat too long. Felix blinks at him. 

“That’s very… out of the blue.” Felix picks at the hem of his tunic. “Why do you ask?” 

“I notice things.” Obviously, but that doesn’t really answer Felix’s question. 

“Hyunjin put you up to this?”

“Not at all,” Minho shakes his head, “I am just concerned.” Felix sighs, steps back until his legs hit the bed and bend so he’s sitting. Minho turns and leans on the dresser, arms folded. 

“I don’t know.” Felix chews at his lip. “It was better for a while, but when you left it got worse again.” Minho’s brows pinch. “Not because of you,” Felix adds quickly, “you didn’t do anything.” Minho’s brows stay pinched. “I’ve had trouble sleeping since before I came to the palace. It used to be nightmares, but now it’s just…” Felix makes a vague gesture with his hands. 

“Your mind is too busy?” Minho tries and Felix nods.

“Yeah, something like that, I guess. I’m tired, but sleep is always fitful for me. As though I can’t settle into it.” Minho hums again, his face relaxing into something more pensive. He moves from the dresser and comes to stand beside Felix instead, giving a quick glance to the bed. Felix gives a single nod and Minho sits next to him, their shoulders practically touching. Minho’s warmth radiates from him like a fire, wraps around Felix like a blanket of security.

“I am sorry,” Minho murmurs. 

“It’s not your fault,” Felix shrugs, “I’m used to it. I’ll see if Chan can’t make me something for it.” His head sinks onto Minho’s shoulder, the hard bone softened by his cloak. Minho’s hand comes up to thread through his hair, gently, not unlike one might pet a cat. It’s relaxing, soothing. The tumultuous, rolling waves of Felix’s thoughts slowly begin to still. His eyes settle on his dresser, drawn to the carving Minho had been.

“What did you get for your coming of age?” Felix asks. The question is more personal than, well, anything he thinks he’s ever asked Minho before. But late nights are the times for such talks, when filters are the loosest and boundaries the most vague. And Felix _wants_ to know Minho, wants to cross this small distance Minho has left between them. 

“Nothing,” Minho tells him and Felix frowns slightly. 

“Nothing?” He echoes, eyes drifting up to look at Minho. The angle isn’t great, but it’s enough for him to see the miniscule sadness that flickers in Minho’s eyes, just for a second. Then his face is carefully neutral. 

“It is not exactly… traditional in the Kingdom of Light.”

“You do not celebrate it at all?” Minho thinks for a moment.

“No, not really. We take note of it, but it is of small importance to us compared to others. Adolescence, adulthood… they are virtually the same.” That’s true, Felix supposes. Aside from the last growth spurts and sharpening on features, all that really changes is society’s view. His eyes begin to slide shut, the quiet of his mind and the warmth of Minho an undeniable pull to sleep. 

“Besides,” to Felix’s surprise, Minho continues, though his voice is farther away now, “I am an orphan. I would not have received a gift anyway.”

A tiny piece of information, just the smallest glimpse of the Minho Felix and Hyunjin have no access to. But Felix’s eyes shut entirely, mind slow to process as he falls into a field of gold.

“That’s sad,” he slurs. Or at least he thinks he says it outloud; his awareness fades.

Minho’s fingers in his hair. Warm.

“Rest well, Felix.” It echoes like a figment of his imagination, soft as the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings. 

Felix wakes up, tucked into his bed, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, alone, with no indication Minho had been there at all. It’s late morning, judging by the light outside. Felix doesn’t think he’s slept this well in ages. Even the usual residual exhaustion seems to have subsided. He feels almost refreshed. Maybe last night _had_ been a dream. A vivid one.

The conversation is vague in his mind, comes through like he’s underwater, but Felix does know Minho had opened up to him, if only by a millimeter. He doesn’t want _that_ to be a dream.

But Minho says nothing when Felix walks into breakfast, so caught up in teasing Hyunjin for something that he barely even looks at Felix for a few minutes. When he does, there’s nothing but his usual cheer on his face.

“You look rested.” It’s Hyunjin who comments in pleasant surprise. 

“Yeah,” Felix casts a glance at Minho, “I feel it too.” Not a single flicker of anything on Minho’s face. He stays quiet.

 _“Rest well, Felix.”_

Perhaps it had been his imagination after all.

Sleep is easier to catch after that, but with it come dreams, come the memories Felix can’t pull into focus, all twisted into a web he can’t run from.

_“We promised.” Arrows in the trees._

_“I’m a good luck charm, you know?” Accusing eyes burning in the darkness. Whispers that stab like knives, pierce like arrowheads._

_“He’s a bad omen.”_

_“Unwanted child.”_

_“I just hope he isn’t a curse.”_

_“I wish you’d leave that boy alone.” Felix’s mother. Her tongue clicks in disapproval. “He’s bad luck.”_

_Arrows in the boy’s back. Dull golden blood, almost grayed._

_Like fool’s gold._

_It stains the boy’s tunic like confusion stains Felix._

_Arrows scattered on the forest floor, broken like twigs._

_Like loneliness stains the boy. Like it bleeds from him. Felix hadn't understood._

_“Ran away.”_

_He doesn’t accept._

_“Gone.”_

_They’re wrong. Everyone is wrong._

_“Dead.”_

_Felix doesn’t_ accept _._

_“I used to want to run away.”_

  
  


_“I’ll die.”_

_Words that haunt the back of his mind, lurking even in Felix’s stubborn resistance. His refusal to accept clashes with a sinking belief in his chest._

_“I’ll be fine.”An echo in the dark woods, Felix’s head turns this way and that, trying to find the source. “I know how to take care of myself.” The voice. He knows it, but he can’t name it. “I know how to take care of myself.” It’s farther now, fading. Felix reaches desperately into the emptiness._

_“I promise.”_

_His fingers close on nothing._

_“I would never leave you.”_

_The world plunges into silence._

_An arrow aimed at him. The boy wears a cracked mask, stands firm and resolute. He does not waver. Felix knows him. He_ knows _him_ . _So why doesn’t he?_

_“I promise.”_

_He hadn’t kept it._

_The arrow flies._

_The boy’s mask falls._

_But Felix cannot see._

_An arrow in his chest. Singular, heart wrenching pain that whites out his vision. The boy is gone when it returns._

_An arrow in his heart._

Felix wakes up, heart pounding and hands shaking. He still can’t remember. Everything is still just out of reach. Maybe he forgot for a reason.

Maybe he doesn’t want to remember.

Minho comes again, every few nights, eyes wide and sympathetic. Like he knows. Felix’s head is heavy on his shoulder at first, then, as this becomes more frequent and comfortable, his head falls into Minho’s lap. 

(Once he had tried leaning against Minho’s chest. Only once. Minho had pulled away then.)

Minho cards a hand through Felix’s hair, speaks to him softly about everything and nothing in particular until Felix succumbs to peaceful sleep. Minho is safe. Minho is secure. Minho is familiar. Minho does not hurt him like his dreams do.

Minho wouldn’t do that.

Even as Minho seems content to leave these nights to themselves and pretend they do not happen, even as Felix wakes up alone - always alone - he knows Minho wouldn’t hurt him.


	5. v. high-sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _when you walk in the dark night, don't do it yourself; i'm here_ \- seventeen, us, again
> 
>  _you are the sunlight that rose again in my life, a reincarnation of my childhood dreams_ \- jungkook, euphoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: near death experiences, mentions of blood

What would otherwise be a nondescript transition between seasons is marked by an event so jarring every single elf in the kingdom hears about it before even a day has passed.

The doors to the council room fly open with a resounding _bang!_ , sending everyone to their feet in shock. Minho and the other guards have all drawn arrows, pointing them at the figure who has fallen to her knees to the floor, breathing heavily.

“Chaeyoung.” The queen’s brows furrow and she raises a hand. Minho’s bow lowers, though he still steps closer to Hyunjin and Felix. But they know Chaeyoung; she is no more a threat than Minho.

“Your majesties,” she gasps, “the war…” 

There’s a sharp intake of breath from every person in the room.

“The war is over.” 

Audible relief from every mouth. 

_The war is over_. 

Not their war, of course, but a war which has bled to their borders, has taken their people’s lives. A war that has affected every kingdom within the Forest. Celebrations spread like wildfire through the villages. 

From the dining room that night, Hyunjin can hear cheers outside. The soldiers, he would guess, rejoicing at the fact that they no longer risk death at the border. 

“We will make the trip.” His father sips at his wine pensively. “I think it would be wise to show our support to Dahye.”

“Is it really safe to go?” Minhyun sounds cautious, though Hyunjin supposes he can’t blame him. “After last time…” 

Last time had been almost a decade ago and a near disaster. They’d barely crossed the border before they’d been ambushed, saved only by the soldiers who had been accompanying them. Hyunjin had been petrified for weeks after. 

“There was a peace agreement signed this morning,” the queen answers. “It’s definitive this time, not just tentative. We will be safe. Besides, your guards will be coming with you.”

“What of the festival?” Minhyun looks towards the gilded sun on the wall behind their parents, flickering with candlelight. “Surely we must be here for it.”

“We will be back in time, of course.” Though the answer seems obvious, at least to Hyunjin, the king always makes a point to answer questions rather earnestly. Even when he and Minhyun had been younger, and had asked far more foolish things, Hyunjin cannot recall ever being made to feel bad for it. “The sooner we go the better. It may be tight, but I think if we time it well, we can manage it.”

“Can Felix come?” Hyunjin asks, giving his parents a hopeful look. 

“If you would like him too and Minho has no problem with it, then I suppose so.” The king glances at Minhyun. “Did you want Seokwoo to go with you as well?” Minhyun shrugs.

“I do not think I need him to come.”

“Smart; you on your own are more than enough for your guards to handle,” Hyunjin teases.

“Rich coming from you, Hyunjinnie,” Minhyun returns easily. “The little handful himself.”

“I’ll have you know that I am an angel; always have been.”

“All right,” Minhyun snorts into his goblet. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Hyunjin,” their mother cuts in before Hyunjin can fire back, “you remember Changbin, don’t you?” Hyunjin blinks.

“Of course.” It’s been a considerably long time since they’ve seen each other, but Hyunjin never forgets a friend.

“It would be beneficial, in the long run, for you to make sure he likes you. I’m not sure how much influence he has while his mother still rules, but it certainly will not hurt.”

“Well, as far as I know he should,” Hyunjin frowns, just a bit. “To my knowledge, we are still friends.” He’s no fool, however. Hyunjin is an optimist, believes in all the good and bright things in the world, but he knows that things have changed. Changbin will have changed. He just doesn’t know what that means for them. 

“You have friends other than Felix?” Minhyun looks at him with over dramatic shock, either because he’s picked up on Hyunjin’s mood shift or just to be annoying. Knowing him, Hyunjin doesn’t put the latter past him. 

“I have more friends than _you_.” Hyunjin juts out his chin.

Minhyun throws a grape at his head.

“Have you ever been to the Kingdom Beneath the Stars?” Hyunjin asks Minho a week later as Minho swings up onto Soonie’s back. His parents had left a day earlier, saying something about it making more sense for them to travel separately from Hyunjin and Minhyun. Hyunjin’s not sure he understands the logic, but who is he to question it? Besides, things are more relaxed without them.

Minhyun and his guards are only barely out of sight in front of them, Minhyun’s complaints about Hyunjin taking “forever to be ready” having devolved into petty bickering until he and his guards had just decided to go ahead. Which is fine with Hyunjin; Minhyun is a buzzkill anyway.

“Hm,” Minho gives a thoughtful hum as he nudges Soonie forward and Hyunjin and Felix follow him. “Not for some years now, but I have a few times, yes.”

“Really?” Hyunjin blinks, tapping his horse forward to flank Minho. 

“Why did you ask if you thought I would say no?” Minho gives him an amused look. “Is it that shocking? You have been too, have you not?”

“I suppose that’s fair.” Hyunjin fidgets with his reins. “Not since before the war broke out, though.”

“Obviously.”

“But when would you have gone?” Hyunjin furrows his brows. “Wouldn’t you have been young too?” His eyes go wide. “Unless you went before the war… how old even _are_ you?” Minho laughs.

“I have been here for nearly half a year and you are just _now_ asking me that?”

“It didn’t seem important till now,” Hyunjin mumbles. 

“How old do you _think_ I am?” There’s a loud silence. “So old, then.”

“I didn’t say that,” Hyunjin whines, reaching over to hit Minho on the arm. “I just figured you were older than Felix and me; I never thought past that.”

“Well, I am.” Minho turns his head to look at Felix, a few steps behind them and nose buried in a notebook he’d made about the Kingdom Beneath the Stars. He doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to them, but Hyunjin would bet money that he’s got one ear open. “Though probably not by as much as you think.”

“So…?” 

“This is my 131st year.” A small noise of surprise leaves Hyunjin’s throat. Minho really is younger than he’d thought then. “To answer your question, I went…” he pauses for a moment, eyes narrowing in thought, “9 years ago.” The same year Hyunjin’s family tried to, which means…

“The year the king was killed.” Now Felix’s attention has been caught and he sidles up to Minho as well. Minho nods. 

“An unfortunate occurrence, but a necessary one,” he says solemnly. “Peace would never have been reached without it.”

“Oh, and you know that for a fact?” Felix all but scoffs. Minho frowns at him.

“I do.”

“An elf died, Minho.”

“I am well aware.” Minho searches Felix’s unusually tight expression. “Not all deaths are wrong, Felix.” Even Hyunjin tilts his head at Felix, furrows his brows, just for a moment, in a silent question. Things like this are usually the sort to bother him, not Felix, and even Hyunjin acknowledges that some people deserve to die.

“You should not take it so lightly.” A frown so severe it becomes a scowl carves itself into Felix’s face. Hyunjin can rarely think of a time he’s been so serious. “Death is not trivial.”

“I do not take it lightly. I, more than most, understand such a thing.” Minho’s frown smoothes, brow creasing. “Do you think so lowly of me?” It’s soft, less addressed to Felix and more just a quiet concern of Minho’s own. Then his face loosens entirely, expression neutral and earnest. 

“I apologize.” His head dips slightly. “I should speak more gently of the dead.” There’s a short silence, a quiet huff, and Felix trots a few yards ahead. Minho watches him, frown worming its way back.

“Am I missing something?” He asks Hyunjin.

But Hyunjin is just as miffed as Minho. All he can offer is a shrug and baffled smile in response. His heels press lightly into his horse’s side and he trots to catch up to Felix. Minho stays put.

Probably a smart decision. 

“I’m fine, Hyunjin,” Felix sighs without even sparing him a glance.

“You’re upset.” Or something like that. Felix looks more confused and frustrated than anything, his shoulders slumped and lips bitten. His horse gives a light shake of his head. Felix does the same.

“It’s stupid.” The mumble sticks in his mouth. There’s something, _something_ , behind it. Always something. Hyunjin just wants to understand. “It’s nothing.” This isn’t like Felix. Felix doesn’t lie. At least not to Hyunjin. Felix tells Hyunjin when he likes things and doesn’t, his honest opinions, about his nightmares, about his dreams, about his thoughts, about his feelings. Felix is always open, if _only_ to Hyunjin. 

So why can Hyunjin feel him shutting him out?

“I doubt either of those are true,” he says. Felix finally turns to look at him. Hyunjin sticks his pinkie out, gives Felix a small smile. “No secrets, remember?” Felix’s pinkie links with his and their thumbs press together, Hyunjin’s small smile returned. Felix opens his mouth, then closes it, casting a glance back at Minho, still within earshot. His lips press together, eyes big and face tense with the want to say something, but he just shakes his head again. 

“Later,” he mutters. Hyunjin will hold him to that.

For now, however, he pulls his horse back just a bit, so he’s walking between Minho and Felix. Like some sort of bridge. 

“Have you been to any other kingdoms?” Hyunjin asks, more brightly and loudly than before, as if that will somehow compensate for the mood shift. Minho winces slightly at the volume and Felix turns to give Hyunjin an irritated look. “Sorry.” Softer this time, the decency to look sheepish. Felix rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Behind them, Minho hums. 

“I have been to most of the Elven kingdoms in the realm.” 

“Really?” Even Felix’s eyes go wide as he momentarily forgets that he’s bothered. Hyunjin only leaves the kingdom to visit the Kingdom Beneath the Moon. Felix never has before. 

Neither of them have ever left the Forest. Few elves do. Most don’t even leave the kingdoms they are born in unless they’re soldiers or royals or ambassadors. 

So why would Minho?

Perhaps it is different in the Kingdom of Light.

Minho’s lips part slightly, move silently as one by one his fingers release his reins. 

“I have been to all but two.” He nods to himself and gives Felix and Hyunjin one of his wide eyed, closed mouth smiles. They stare at him in almost dumbfounded silence. 

“Like… just for fun?” Hyunjin eventually breaks the silence. 

“I go where I am told to go. Fun has nothing to do with it, though I suppose every kingdom has its perks.”

“What’s our perk?” Minho’s eyes crinkle and he nudges Soonie forward until he’s walking beside Hyunjin just so he can poke him in the forehead. Felix’s brow furrows at the exchange and his face sets in concentration, just for a moment, before he purses his lips and irons out his brow.

“Is it not obvious?” Minho cocks his head. Mirth in his eyes, in his voice. 

“Minho, what is it?” Hyunjin pouts.

“Felix, surely you know.” But Felix just shrugs, looking no more aware than Hyunjin.

“Ah, you two, really…” Minho shakes his head and sighs, but looks at them fondly nonetheless. 

“Tell us,” Hyunjin whines.

“Where would be the fun in that?” Another poke to Hyunjin’s forehead. “Figure it out for yourselves.”

“Come on, just tell us.” Hyunjin pokes Minho back.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I no longer want to.” Minho turns up his nose primly. Hyunjin pokes him again, harder this time, smack in the middle of the gold cloth tied around his bicep. 

“So which kingdom is your favorite?” Felix cuts in before Hyunjin can get another word out. He’s turned his back to them again, like he doesn’t want to really be part of the conversation even though he’s the one asking. 

“I think they all have a certain charm to them,” Minho says thoughtfully. “The Kingdom of the North is as beautiful as they say. The snow makes it glitter as though it is made of diamonds, which is truly a sight to see. The Silver Wood has a… magical quality to it, I suppose you could say. I spent a lot of time there not too long ago, so my memories of it are rather fond.”

“But your favorite?” Felix prods. Minho tilts his head up into the warm sunshine, skin bathed in the golden light. With his hair, now a deeper shade than it had been when they had first met him, more akin to the deep gold of autumn than that of summer, it almost makes him seem like one of those fancy sculptures in the library. The smile that settles on his face is one of deep contentment, of relaxation. 

“I have always loved this kingdom the most. I am glad to be here again after so many years.” 

“This kingdom?” Felix turns again, puzzled. Their kingdom is lovely, but surely among all the other great kingdoms, many praised for their beauty, Minho would pick somewhere else. Hell, the myths gush over the beauty of his _own_ kingdom. “Why?” 

“This is my birth kingdom. For that, it is exceedingly special in my heart.”

 _Birth kingdom_.

It echoes in the too loud silence, in Felix and Hyunjin's heads, opens the door for an influx of questions; so many, yet none they can find the words to ask. 

"Oh." Felix manages to dredge up that eloquent word. "That's nice." 

Hyunjin mouths it back to him and gives him a scathing look, as if that's the dumbest thing Felix could have said. Felix returns the look. At least he said _something_. Hyunjin’s silent staring is a worse response. 

“It is.” Minho lets his head fall forward again, eyes warm. 

Something oddly sad plays across his face.

“Minho, why-” He looks at Hyunjin, eyes widening just the tiniest bit, as they do when Minho gives his full attention. The sun turns the brown to warm bronze and Hyunjin falters. “Why did you-”

“Hyunjin, hurry up!” Minhyun’s yell has all three of them focusing ahead of them, where he and his bodyguards are waiting. Staring

“Why did you-” 

“Hyunjinnie, come on! We’re trying to make it out of the kingdom by nightfall!” Minhyun is lucky Hyunjin’s too far away to hit him, but hopefully he catches the incredibly sour look Hyunjin sends him. 

“We had best go.” Minho clicks his tongue to Soonie, who immediately breaks into a much faster trot. “Ask me later, all right?” He shoots Hyunjin a quick smile as he passes him. “Race you two,” he says, more loudly now as he overtakes Felix. Soonie breaks into a canter. 

“No fair!” Felix sends his horse forward, as does Hyunjin a moment later. “You’ve got a head start!” Minho laughs, a sound so jarring and bubbly that at first it had hardly seemed to suit his sharp, cold features. But it’s bright, like the twinkling of starlight. 

Lights up Minho’s whole face in the way he smiles, the ways his eyes turn to crescents. 

And then it isn’t so unsuitable.

Hyunjin’s question floats on the wind as they run towards Minhyun, left behind as the lot of them keep their pace towards the border. 

_Why did you leave?_

For hours he’s silent. They cross the border.

He doesn’t ask. Minho doesn’t remind him of it. 

_Why did you leave?_

It disperses like dandelion seeds in the wind.

They stop as the sky turns to a muted purple, prefacing the velvet blue of night. Minho is the first to hop down, scratching Soonie behind the ears and stroking her nose, practically cooing at her as the others dismount and tie up their horses. Then he looks between Felix and Hyunjin, brow furrowed just for a moment before it smoothes out again.

“I will look for firewood,” he announces cheerfully. “Minghao, come with me.” Minghao, one of Minhyun’s guards, blinks for a second. He looks at Minhyun, who just shrugs. 

“All right.” Minghao relents without any fight. “We should hurry though; it’s cold here at night”

“I know.” Minho retains the cheer in his voice as the two head off into the woods.

“Why me?” Felix can hear Minghao asking.

“You were closest to me.”

“Oh.” Mild disappointment. “No special reason?”

“We have never even spoken.” A short silence, a breath. “That does not mean we have to.” Felix snorts. There’s a soft huff from Minghao, and then the pair go quiet as the dead. Minhyun and his remaining guard, Dohwan, set about unrolling bedmats and talking quietly (something about time Dohwan had spent as a border guard, if Felix hears correctly), so Felix figures he may as well do the same. 

Hyunjin catches his wrist, eyes big and filled with curiosity Felix can see even in the hazy light.

“You said you’d tell me later, remember?” Felix nods. “It’s later.” He swats at Hyunjin lightly. 

“So it is.” 

“And Minho isn’t here.” Felix gives Hyunjin a look. Hyunjin puts up his hands defensively. “Well, he’s the reason you wouldn’t say anything earlier, is he not?”

“Perhaps.” 

“Felix,” Hyunjin whines, throwing his arms over Felix’s shoulders and leaning forward with all his weight. His breath tickles Felix’s ear and cheek. “You said you’d tell me.” The pout makes no effort to be hidden. Felix unties his own bedmat from his saddle and hits Hyunjin on the head with it.

“I will, stupid. Just get your stuff ready first.” Hyunjin grumbles, but his weight leaves Felix’s back and he makes the few foot trip to his own bedmat. He lays it down right next to Felix’s.

“Just like the good old days. We haven’t had a sleepover in ages.” Hyunjin smiles, half genuinely and half something much more smug. 

“And whose fault is that?” Felix crosses his arms and kicks at Hyunjin’s calves lightly. “Maybe if you didn’t spend the whole night moving around and talking…” 

“I do not talk in my sleep,” Hyunjin tells him, aghast. 

“Yes, you do,” Felix snorts. He’s heard _way_ too much about some weird dreams. "Not to mention you snore."

“No, I don’t.” Hyunjin takes a step forward, face set. Felix, though shorter, matches the move, jutting his chin out and giving Hyunjin a determined look.

“Do too.” 

“Do not.”

“Do _too_.”

“Do _not_.”

“You do.” Minhyun doesn’t even turn his head towards them as he says it, just immediately dives back into his conversation with Dohwan. Hyunjin makes a silent, mocking face at him.

“Not my fault you’re a light sleeper,” he huffs at Felix. They break from their posturing without the faintest trace of remaining tension, most of it being nothing more than playful stubbornness. Something does pull at the corners of Hyunjin’s mouth though, just the tiniest bit of gravity tugging them toward the earth. From them, a web of annoyance, delicate and thin as spider’s silk, spreads across his face. Felix reaches a hand up into his hair and thuds their heads together momentarily, startling Hyunjin with the suddenness of his action and Minhyun and Dohwan with the sound.

“I love you even with the sleep talking,” he reassures. Just like that, the web is torn away and Hyunjin grins at him. Then he frowns and rubs his forehead. 

“Did you have to do it that hard? I feel like I’m going to have a bruise.” He sinks onto his bedmat, still rubbing at his head. Felix thinks it’s a little dramatic. 

“I may have been a little overzealous.” He’ll concede that, seeing as his head does kind of hurt too. “But you’ve made me see stars before, so I don’t think you’re in any position to make comments.” He folds his legs to sit on his own bedmat.

“I wonder what Changbin’s family would think of me if I showed up with a giant bruise on my forehead,” Hyunjin muses. His fingers poke and prod, and Felix knows he’s doing it just for the sake of doing it. “That would be a first impression.”

“Your hair covers it anyway.” Felix rolls his eyes.

“I want to look good,” Hyunjin tells him. Another eye roll. “Princely.”

“You always look good.” Hyunjin flicks Felix’s knee, eyes bright and almost expectant. “And the only way you could look more princely is if you were Minhyun.” That has Hyunjin’s mouth flying open in protest, but then he looks over to his brother and Felix can see his face soften and his mouth close in favor of curving into a small smile.

"Yeah," he says fondly. Then the moment breaks and he turns back to Felix and pokes him in the forehead. "Guess you'd match with me anyway." 

_("There." Flick to the forehead, Felix wriggles in someone's arms until he's released. Warm breeze, sunlight, the edges of an aggressive bruise peeking out from slipping sleeves. Smugness, a pleased smile. "Now we match.")_

Felix must make a face or something because Hyunjin is peering at him, brow furrowed. 

“What is it?” Hyunjin tilts his head a bit. “You zoned out for a second.”

“Nothing.” Felix shakes his head, dispels the last bit of the memory. “It’s nothing.”

“Same nothing as earlier?” Felix pauses, just for a breath, then nods once. “Will you tell me now?”

So Felix does. He tells Hyunjin about the jumbled memories, his dream. The face he knows, but cannot see. The voice he hears, but cannot place. 

The boy he knows, but does not. 

Hyunjin listens with an intense look on his face, like he’s trying to puzzle it all out as well. 

“Someone died, Hyunjin,” Felix concludes, a hard swallow in his throat, “but I don’t _remember_ anyone dying.” Hyunjin reaches for his hand, gentle concern bleeding from his fingers. 

“You think it’s the boy?” 

“I don’t know who else it could be.” Felix chews at his lip. “And he’s always _there_ , so it must be him - I feel like it is - but I just- I don’t-” He waves his free hand, a frustrated noise rising from his throat. Hyunjin’s thumb runs across the back of his hand, as delicate as a rose petal. “I just want to remember. I want to _know_. I don’t understand why I can’t. I remember everything else so clearly.” Felix’s fingers press into Hyunjin’s knuckles, voice tightening with his chest. “I feel kind of guilty that I don’t know who it was,” he says softly, almost ashamed to admit it. Ashamed he doesn’t know, ashamed he feels bad about it.

“You shouldn’t.” Hyunjin’s brows knit together. “It isn’t your fault you don’t remember.”

“Yeah,” Felix sighs, sinking against Hyunjin, “I know.” Of course he knows. It doesn’t soften the hard lump in his throat. “But I do.” Hyunjin’s hand frees itself from Felix’s and rests on his hair instead. It’s overly hot and sweaty, not at all the pleasant warmth that radiates from Minho’s hands, but it’s comforting and familiar. Felix has long since gotten over his complaints of how nasty it is that Hyunjin does this. Any bite behind them had faded years and years ago, but now, as they are older and the gesture ever more soaked in care, Felix doesn't have the heart to. Not even in jest. 

There’s a loaded intake of breath and Felix can feel the worry as Hyunjin tenses, but silence remains between them. Somewhere off in the woods, a branch snaps and there's voices too far to quite make out. 

"Don't say anything to Minho."

Hyunjin's shoulder moves, just the tiniest bit, as he nods. "You know I wouldn't." Promises are promises, and just as they promised not to keep secrets from each other, they promised to hold these fragile bits of information close to their own hearts. "But can I know why?" 

Maybe, if Felix knew why. But as it stands, he doesn't know what's stopping him. Minho can't know. Felix isn't sure _why_ , but he just knows he can't. 

Not yet. 

Maybe someday Felix will find the strength to tell him. 

Maybe if Minho asks. 

But he hasn't and Felix kind of hopes he won't. It doesn't seem relevant to him anyway. 

Or maybe it does. 

Felix wishes he could make sense of it all.

"Just… doesn't feel like he should know," he tells Hyunjin lamely. But then, does he really need to explain himself? It is his heart he's exposed, after all. Hyunjin doesn't push it, just hums. 

His hand falls from Felix's hair. 

The stars have come out, the very last shred of light in the sky desperately clings to its final minutes. 

Minho and Minghao return with the firewood, in the midst of a debate over whether quail or pheasant is better. Not that it matters, seeing as all any of them will be eating tonight is bread. 

"Assuming we don't run into any unforeseen delays, we should reach the palace by tomorrow evening," Minghao says as he roots around in his pack. Minho is working on the fire with limited success, much to the amusement of Hyunjin and Felix. They've never seen Minho struggle with anything really. He mutters several impolite phrases under his breath and they catch curses in the Common Tongue, far more vulgar than most in Elvish. Then Minghao passes them each a small loaf, and in the seconds that their attention is off Minho, he goes quiet and there's a crackling as the fire starts. Minho rocks back on his heels, settling his hands on his knees with a pleased smile on his face.

The flint rocks are beside his boots, as though he hasn't even touched them. 

Minghao offers Minho a loaf, but he rejects it with a small shake of his head. It isn't a surprise, but it does bring frowns to both Felix and Hyunjin's faces. But they fade quickly as Minho comes over to them, telling them about an owl he'd seen in the woods. 

He asks nothing about earlier. 

As the fire burns low and the inky night swallows them, Felix and Hyunjin grow drowsy. It's been a long day of travelling, which they aren't used to. One of Hyunjin's arms is slung over Felix, pulling him close so his forehead rests between Felix's shoulder blades. His soft breaths tickle a bit, but they, combined with Hyunjin's body heat and tight grip, tug Felix towards sleep. He supposes it's not unlike when Minho is with him, stroking his hair until he sleeps, cocooning him in golden warmth. 

The comfort and safety is the same. Felix succumbs to sleep more quickly than usual, even with Minho's help. Or he would, if not for a whisper in the dark.

"-re you going?" Felix opens one eye and squints, trying to make out what's going on. Minho kneels beside the fire, face illuminated by the dying embers and set in serious, sharp lines. His eyes glint like amber; hard in contrast to their usual gentleness. He's untied the cloth from his bicep and instead is tying it around his head, metal sun positioned smack in the middle of his forehead. It catches the light, shines like a real sun just for a moment. It's Dohwan who's asked, staring at Minho with a raised brow from across the fire. "You should rest." 

"I have business to attend to." Minho stands and there is not one ounce of relaxation in his posture. 

"Yes, it's called doing your job and protecting the prince." 

"That is exactly what I am doing," Minho mutters. "Unless you are not capable of keeping watch while they rest." 

"I did not say that." Dohwan watches Minho carefully, eyes narrowing slightly. 

"I will be back." Minho's head turns towards Felix and Hyunjin and he blinks in surprise at the sight of Felix staring back at him. 

"Minho…"

"Shh." Minho is there in an instant, the ghost of fingers on Felix's face. Warmth runs through his veins. "Go back to sleep, Felix." His voice is gentle despite his hard eyes. It's heavy, pulling Felix under as though laced with something. "Sleep." He doesn't want to - he fights it - but the pull is like lakeweed, wrapping itself around Felix's legs and trapping him. Though Felix is a strong swimmer, he finds himself drowning in it. Fighting is too tiring.

He lets himself go under.

Unlike usual, Felix swears there's a chill that chases the warmth. But it's brief, felt only as Minho vanishes into darkness, and Felix thinks he might have imagined it. 

The field of gold he falls into does not change.

_Felix is young; bright eyed and intensely curious of the world and the other elfings in their village._

_An archery field. Children his age, some a little older. One is alone, his back to Felix, shoulders drawn and a shadow about him._

_“Bad news.”_

_Two elves at the border. Dead. An arrow in the mother’s chest. She has fallen on the father. An arrow in the father’s back. He has fallen on the child._

_“Bad luck.”_

_Only the child survives._

_“Bad omen.”_

_“Just leave him be.”_

_“I think you’re cool!” Felix has never admired anyone until this boy. He makes archery seem exciting and fun and Felix wants to be just like him._

_A smile so bright it hurts. So bright it banishes the shadow. Felix can see nothing else._

_“Really?”_

_“Yeah!”_

_Running through emerald green grass, swimming in the slow river, playing in the trees. Not the thick forest surrounding their village. Never the forest. Its branches extend like hands, blocking out the sun and trying to grab at them._

_More than once, Felix catches the boy staring at it, standing at the edge, fists clenched, eyes determined. Shining. Desperate._

_He can’t go in. He shouldn’t. They aren’t allowed._

_He does anyway._

_Nipping at his heels like unrelenting hounds, sharp arrows drive him towards it._

_“A curse.”_

_They bury themselves in his back. Over and over and over again._

_But the boy never cries._

_“It doesn’t bother me.” Smiles that splinter. Falter. Unsure when he thinks Felix isn’t looking. Felix sees but he does not. A ribbon in the boy’s hair as he secures a mask._

_Tightens it?_

_Maybe he's always worn it._

_All Felix can see is his back, farther and farther away by the second._

_Felix reaches for him. To stop him. To save him._

_“I know how to take care of myself.” Felix’s fingers close on air and the boy is gone, replaced by scattered arrows, broken and useless. Felix runs towards where they are, but he never seems to move._

_Not again._

_Not_ again _._

_He runs and runs and runs without taking a single step until he can’t run anymore. Felix collapses into the soft grass._

_Sinks through the ground._

_Felix falls._

_Falls._

_Falls._

_Falls._

_For minutes and hours, days and weeks, moons and years._

_And years._

_And years._

_Until finally Felix sees the ground, fast approaching. Just for a moment, he's relieved. Felix is tired of falling, of trying to stop himself, of trying to fly. And then he's terrified._

_He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see and braces for impact that never comes._

_When he opens them again, he’s standing in the forest._

_And Minho stands with him._

_Gold, as he had been upon their first meeting, only now the cloth he ties around his arm has been fixed around his head, his hair falling over it to frame the sun right in the center of his forehead, just like Felix had seen him before falling asleep._

_It’s Minho, yet not one Felix knows. His face is distorted, like a broken mirror. Across from them, the boy is there again._

_The boy who had shot before._

_The boy who had disappeared._

_He still wears the mask, still hides his face. The cracks in it have grown. While Minho glows in splendor, the darkness of the forest seems to reach for the boy._

_Perhaps it has already reached him; his eyes, the only thing Felix can see, are full of pain. Then they harden. Sharp as glass, cutting right into Felix’s soul._

_The boy raises the bow, but this time aims it at Minho instead of Felix. Gone is the steadiness; now his hands shake._

_Minho stares. Just stares._

_The arrow flies._

_Felix wants to move, to push Minho out of the way, but he’s stuck. Minho looks sad. Desperately so as he looks at the boy. He makes no move of his own._

_The arrow hits him._

_But it’s the boy who lets out a choked gasp, the arrow lodged in_ his _chest rather than Minho’s. The same dull gold blood as before seeps into his tunic like spilled ink. The boy’s hands come to clutch at the wound and he falls to his knees._

_Like Minho is in a trance, he walks towards the boy, pulls away from Felix’s attempts to stop him._

_Draws an arrow of his own._

_The boy’s hands fall into his lap, stained in graying gold. His head tilts up._

_Fear. Felix sees the small fear in his eyes._

_New fissures in the mask, cracking like ice._

_“Minho, don’t.” Felix tries to speak but the words won’t come. Can’t. It’s as though his mouth has been stitched shut._

_Minho stops mere feet from the boy. Whatever sadness Felix had seen on his face is gone now._

_He aims._

_Steady. Unwavering._

_Everything is still._

_Felix stretches out a hand as if he could ever hope to reach him._

_Everything is silent._

_Minho shoots._

_Everything is broken._

_And the world shatters._

Felix jolts awake, gasping for air and sweating, cheeks cold and damp. Hyunjin stirs beside him, arms tightening around Felix as he mumbles something incoherent. Smoke curls from the dead fire, slow in the dense, blue air. The sun has yet to peer over the horizon, and the wet chill of fall overwhelms the senses. They are not so far from their kingdom, yet everything feels _different._ The blue befits it, just as the chill does. 

Felix can't tell if he dislikes it or not. All he knows is that _home_ burns in his chest. 

The palace. Hyunjin. His parents. His village. 

The boy. 

Minho. 

He sits by the cold fire, looking out into the woods and picking at the fletching on one of his arrows. There's a dash of something dark on his cheek and if Felix looks hard, he swears there's small stains on Minho's thigh. His headband is back around his arm. The energy about him feels different, like it had last night. It's something more serious, heavier, but Felix can't tell why. Though Minho usually exudes a calm, bright demeanor, he does take his job very seriously, so it's not like Felix hasn't seen him like that. But this isn't it. 

"You're trembling." Hyunjin's groggy voice is muffled by Felix's spine. He's barely awake, only just aware of things. " 'S the matter?" 

"Just cold," Felix whispers back, wriggling out from Hyunjin's arms. Hyunjin whines and tightens his hold again. 

" 'll keep you warm," he mumbles, " 'n tell Seokmin it's my fault we're late. Don't wanna get up yet." 

"You don't have to." Felix successfully detaches himself from Hyunjin. He groans and reaches towards him again, arm patting where Felix had just been in a lazy search. Hyunjin's eyes remain firmly shut. "No Seokmin, no nothing. You can go back to sleep." 

"Don't want you to be cold." But already Hyunjin has stopped trying to find Felix, hand bunching in the fabric of his bedroll instead. " 'M warm enough for both of us." 

"Yeah," Felix sighs, running a hand through Hyunjin's hair until his breathing evens out into the gentle rise and fall of his sleeping state, "you are." Still, he drapes the cloak he'd been using as a blanket over Hyunjin who, despite boasting of his warmth and having a cloak of his own, is shaking. 

Though, Felix can't say he's doing much better as he tucks his hands into his armpits and shuffles over to Minho. It's nippier than he'd thought and though his earlier trembling isn't something he would attribute to the cold, his current shivering is. 

"Hey," he says softly, teeth chattering. Minho, lost in thought, one hand now rubbing circles in his ribs, practically jumps out of his skin like a startled cat. Felix and Hyunjin had learned early on that Minho hates loud noises, more so than most elves, but he's usually so attuned to everything that it's hard to surprise him. Rarely does his mind wander so far. 

Minho doesn't look at Felix, despite this, until he sits down. 

“You were crying,” he says, offering Felix his cloak, which Felix gratefully wraps around himself. It's warm, like it's been in the sun for hours. 

"Was I?” Felix wipes at his eyes and cheeks. Minho hums.

“Bad dream?” In lieu of a response, Felix averts his gaze a bit. It’s answer enough, he supposes.

“Won't you be cold?" He asks with mild concern, trying to banish the fearful eyes from his dream that threaten to plague his mind. It isn't hard to guess what Minho will say.

"I never am," Minho responds. What Felix had not expected is the weariness with which he says it. What is he to make of that? 

It matters not, he decides, recalling a more pressing matter. The reason he'd dragged himself here in the first place. His fingers hover over the dark patch on Minho's cheek, making only the lightest of contact. It's still a bit tacky. Minho turns his head to look at Felix curiously. 

"What happened?" Felix's brows pinch. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Blood.” There’s no cut beneath it, but then, Minho would have healed it anyway, Felix supposes. “Is it yours?” Minho’s fingers raise to his cheek as well, poking at Felix’s. He blinks once, twice, then shrugs.

“I do not know.” His head falls back to look at the empty, ever paling blue, eyes searching. “Does it really matter anyway? It is not as though I am hurt or anything.” 

“If not yours-”

“Nevermind, Felix.” Minho drops his head to smile softly at him, ruffling a hand through his hair. “It is not important.” Well, that can’t be true. It has to be someone’s and it had to get here somehow. Nevertheless, Felix doesn’t ask. He’s not sure he wants to know the answer, isn’t sure he’ll like it. There’s a reason Felix could never have been a soldier. 

With a sigh, he rubs at the blood with his sleeve. “Don’t let Hyunjin see; he’ll worry.” A quiet hum in response. “And don’t go off and get yourself into trouble either.” Felix frowns. “I don’t want you to get hurt.” Minho shakes his head. 

“I know how to take care of myself.”

_“I know how to take care of myself.”_

Something twists in Felix’s stomach. “That isn’t always enough, Minho.” He hates how thick his voice gets. Felix wraps the cloak around himself more tightly, as though that will chase away the chill crawling beneath his skin. 

“I suppose not.” Minho looks far off through the trees just as the first rays of light break the horizon. Felix squints against the gold, but Minho stares straight ahead and lets it wash over him. Then he tilts his head at Felix, eyes so full of sureness and happiness that it almost hurts. “But _I_ am.” It tugs at Felix’s heart for some reason, to hear him say that. With slightly less sureness, however, Minho’s hand cradles the back of Felix’s head and he pulls him forward hesitantly, like he half expects Felix to pull away. But he doesn’t, partially too stunned to, and partially because he has no desire to. Minho’s forehead presses gently against his, just for a second, before he leans back.

The elfling in Felix - exhausting himself chasing ghosts in his dreams, unsettling Felix’s heart - finds peace, if only for that brief moment. 

“I will try not to worry you.” His eyes flick to Hyunjin, now properly stirring as the sun hits him. “Or Hyunjin.” A small smile breaks like the dawn, but has none of its warmth. “You should not worry too much. I am stronger than you believe.” 

Felix doesn’t doubt it. He sees it in Minho’s face, in his silent, unwavering pride. Strong in mind, in body, in soul. 

“It’s not about strength,” he murmurs. Minho’s smile fades and his hand comes to rest on his side, fingers twitching slightly. 

“I am strong,” he asserts. 

“I know you are,” Felix assures softly. “Minho, we don’t worry because we think you’re weak.” It doesn’t seem to have the effect Felix wants. Rather, Minho’s brows furrow and a shadow falls over his eyes.

“I am not weak.” It’s thin, wavering in a way Felix can’t place. Agitation buzzes in the air around them, staringly out of place for Minho. He stands abruptly as others begin to stir and yawn. The fog in his expression clears, as though Minho has broken through murky water, but something still pulls at his mouth. “Not anymore.”

“Minho?” Felix stands as well, one hand reaching out to tap Minho gently on the shoulder. Minho shakes his head at the touch, clarity returning to his face entirely as he looks at Felix.

“Do not worry about me.” This time the smile is more genuine, more relaxed. “I will be fine.” There’s an affectionate pinch of Felix’s cheek. “I will worry about you and Hyunjin; you two should worry about more important things than my life. Even if you believe in nothing else, believe in me.” Then Felix is left alone as Minho strides over to Hyunjin and shakes him awake.

 _You are important_ , he wants to say.

But Minho meets his eyes, and Felix doesn’t get the impression that his self-worth is the issue.

( _Smiles that splintered. Confidence that cracked._

 _Felix saw but he didn't_ see. 

_“If this is all there is…” Broken. Felix should have known. He didn’t._

_He_ didn’t _._

_Young, too young._

_“I’ll die.”_

_Both of them, too young. Felix almost laughed._

_“I’ll_ die _.”_

 _Maybe the boy had always worn the mask._ )

So Felix says nothing, and the words die in his mouth like the boy dies in his dreams.

The forest grows denser as they travel towards its heart, more and more deep green conifers dispersed among the dark, fiery tones of the deciduous trees. The canopy is thicker than in the Kingdom Beneath the Sun, and the light that breaks through seems almost to illuminate the way for them to follow with thick beams concentrating on a seemingly natural path, like a scar running through the woods. A few lonely birdsongs echo around them, but it’s not like home. Rather, almost forlorn and foreboding, like the surrounding forest. Some cut through the air as sharp as razors. The woods seem to be devoid of any other animals as no branches snap around them, no claws scratch at trees. They see nothing, not even the birds they can hear. Despite the sunshine, increasingly it feels as though heavy clouds hang over them.

It’s odd, and not like Hyunjin remembers at all. Though his memories are old and vague, he doesn’t remember the forest seeming quite so dark or empty. It suits Seungmin’s kingdom far more, and even then only in the throes of winter. The atmosphere brings tension to his shoulders that he sees mirrored in everyone else. Even Minho is on higher alert than usual, eyes sharp as knives as he looks towards every rustle of leaves.

“It’s different,” Hyunjin says quietly, sidling up to Minhyun. It’s as much a question as it is a statement. His brother looks around them, careful and pensive. 

“Yes,” he concurs, “it is. It used to be happier.”

“It feels threatening now.” Hyunjin frowns. Do the elves of this kingdom feel it too? Is their home no longer the source of safety it’s meant to be? 

“The forest is angry.” Minho’s voice is soft, almost empathetic. Hyunjin and Minhyun turn to him, but he’s not looking at them. No, Minho is studying the dark branches with an unreadable expression. “During the war, fires were set in offense. Parts of the forest were destroyed by those who were meant to protect it, and so the forest has not forgiven them.”

“Fires?” Hyunjin exchanges a look with his brother. They’ve never heard of this. “Minho, how do you know that?” He blinks at them, head tilted slightly.

“I was here when some of them happened. Towards the end of his days, the king had a particular fondness for such a method.” Minho’s brows furrow as he looks around again. “Much of the damage was caused on his orders, even as the forest grew ever darker and emptier. Though the use of fire ceased with his death, and much that was lost regrew, forgiveness has not been earned.”

Minhyun clears his throat softly and nudges Hyunjin in an unspoken request. 

“Will it be?” Hyunjin asks in his stead, the air around them too heavy to even roll his eyes. Minho blinks at them again. Once, then twice in rapid succession.

“How should I know?” The somber mood dissipates with his comically affronted words. “I might understand the forest, but even I cannot predict the future.”

“Something Minho cannot do?” Felix teases gently. “Between this and the fire yesterday, one might almost think you aren’t perfect.”

“I am as perfect as any Elf.” Minho sticks out his tongue. “And how can you say that? I got the fire going, no thanks to any of you.”

“Took you long enough.”

“You can do it next time, seeing as you want to complai-” His words cut abruptly and Minho very suddenly runs Soonie practically right up to Hyunjin and Minhyun’s horses, making them leap forward with flat ears and unhappy snorts. No sooner have they moved then there’s a flash of blue and Minho’s hand darts out, his fist closing on something right where Minhyun’s head would have been. 

Felix barely has time to process that it’s an arrow Minho has grabbed, that someone had meant to kill at least one of the princes. Without a moment’s hesitation, Minho has notched the arrow in his own bow and sends it flying back into the dense trees with such purpose Felix thinks he’s meant to give the shooter a taste of their own medicine. But even when he squints into the darkness, reaches the very limits of his perception, Felix can’t seem to see anyone. 

Yet Minho continues to look into the forest with a fire in his eyes, brows heavy. And soon enough, there’s an out of place snapping of branches, faint but loud in the near silence. Something - or more likely, someone - hits the ground somewhere deep within. Only then does Minho’s brow lift and he lets out a breath, slinging his bow back over his shoulder. 

“Th...thank you,” Minhyun says shakily, a hand coming to grip Hyunjin’s shoulder tightly. For his part, Hyunjin has gone white as a sheet. Minhyun’s guards have come to stand closer to him, wearing identical frowns and concerned looks. 

“Thank you,” they echo, placing their fists over their hearts and dipping their heads to Minho. He’s quick to return the gesture, shaking his head.

“It is my duty.” Minho lifts his head and gives one last scan of trees. “We should be safe now, though it may not be a bad idea to pick up the pace a little.”

“Can we rest? For a moment?” Hyunjin’s voice is weaker than it’s ever been, sobered by his brush of mortality. Minhyun’s guards look to Minho in a silent conversation and Minho nods. Hyunjin breaks away from his brother until he’s right beside Minho, so close their legs hit each other. Felix is at his other side in an instant, face lined with worry. Hyunjin blinks rapidly, eyes darting between the two of them in a moment of split decision. 

It’s Minho’s shoulder his forehead sinks heavily on, Minho whose back goes rigid to support Hyunjin’s weight and balance them both. Hyunjin shakes, but does not cry, despite his blinking and less than steady breaths. Felix rubs his back just as he would if Hyunjin had chosen to lean on him, crease in his brow cutting his face like a bolt of lightning.

“Hyunjin?” He tries carefully. Minho brings up a hand to comb through Hyunjin’s hair, not unlike he does when he talks Felix to sleep. 

“Sorry,” Hyunjin mumbles. “Sorry, I know. I’m okay. I’m just… sun above, sorry.”

“Do not be sorry.” Minho gently presses Hyunjin’s head deeper into his shoulder. “Dying is frightening, but you are okay.” 

“I know that.” Hyunjin’s muscles tense beneath Felix’s hand. “I know, but-”

“I will not let you die. Believe in me,” Minho nearly implores. His voice remains soft, but his conviction is rooted as deeply as the trees around them. “Believe in me, Hyunjin. By my life, you will not die.” His fingers once again run through Hyunjin’s hair. “You are okay. You are okay.” Felix feels the tension in Hyunjin fall away as Minho repeats the phrase. His breathing evens out and Hyunjin finds his steadiness again, enough to bring himself upright again. He looks almost too calm, especially in the face of Minhyun, who seems more a spooked horse.

“We should get going if we wish to reach the palace by sundown,” Minho says, tilting his head to look up at the thin strip of sky above them. “I think it may be better on everyone’s nerves if we are not out here when night falls.”

“Hyunjin.” Felix catches his arm as Minho walks forward. Hyunjin’s face is more neutral when he looks at Felix, like some of the calm has worn off. “You okay?” There’s a short pause, like Hyunjin is taking stock of everything.

“Yeah.” He scratches his head. “I…” Hyunjin frowns in sudden confusion. “ I’m fine.”

“Really?” Felix can’t help but be doubtful. He knows Hyunjin. “You don’t have to act brave just because of Minho.”

“I’m not.” Hyunjin speaks slowly and gives Felix an odd look. “I know I _should_ be more scared, but I’m just… not. I just feel fine. A little worried, but fine.” His eyes find Minho, who turns towards them and jerks his head up the path. “I feel safe,” he concludes. 

“You believe in Minho?” Hyunjin taps his horse’s sides and looks back at Felix with a small smile.

“Don’t you?”

_“Even if you believe in nothing else, believe in me.”_

“I do,” Felix whispers to no one in particular, trotting towards the others so as not to hold them up. A sunbeam hits Minho and Soonie, and Minho becomes radiant. “I really do.”

  
  


The sky burns red by the time they reach the palace, still standing resolute and strong even with all that it has been through. Minho perks up almost the instant they set foot inside, an unusually excited energy about him, but Hyunjin has no chance to ask him why before his parents are upon him and Minhyun, pressing their heads together gently and hugging them tightly. There is a silent agreement not to mention earlier’s incident, only soft “it was fine”s when their mother asks after the journey, fussing quietly as she picks at leaves in their hair and smooths wrinkles in their tunics. 

Minho watches with a bittersweet softness in his eyes, but the look lacks any kind of resentment.

“Dinner will be held within the hour,” the king announces. “This is an important visit, so your official wear has been sent to your rooms. Yes,” he directs a look at Hyunjin, who has barely even had time to open his mouth, “you must wear the crown.”

“It’s stiff,” Hyunjin grumbles. “I feel like I can’t move my face properly.”

“You will get used to it,” his father sighs fondly, sweeping Hyunjin’s bangs aside. His hands fall on Hyunjin’s shoulders and squeeze gently. “It’s only a few days, Hyunjin. Then you need not wear it until the next big event.” Hyunjin makes a face, but nods. Behind his parents, two servants appear, eyes wide and curious as they look at the newcomers. It’s almost unsettling, but it occurs to Hyunjin that the palace probably hasn’t seen many guests in the preceding decades, and he doubts any would have been from the neighboring kingdoms. 

“If you would please show the princes and their party to their rooms,” the queen orders gently. The servants bow hurriedly, breaking them off into two groups as politely as they can. Hyunjin, Felix, and Minhyun are to room on the southernmost side of the palace, close to the center where the large, important rooms are. Minho, Minghao, and Dohwan have been relegated to a nearby, eastern section where many of the palace guards reside. 

“As you can see,” the servant guiding Hyunjin gives him, the last to be shown his room, a wide smile, “your room is spacious and bright. Their Royal Highnesses wished you would be happy here, so they thought you might appreciate the sunlight. Though our lands are not so bright as yours, the southern rooms were built specifically with visitors from your kingdom in mind.” She bows to him. “I hope it is to your taste, Prince Hyunjin.”

Unlike he has done with Minho in the past, Hyunjin does not right her. It is not his place to do so here, nor within any capacity during his royal duties. Even Felix, as much as Hyunjin hates it, must bow when they are in public. No matter how much Hyunjin sees someone as his friend or equal, their society is built on hierarchy. Hyunjin sits at the top only by a fluke.

But this is not his kingdom, and not his servant, so Hyunjin cannot tell her how to behave without seeming out of line.

“It is lovely, thank you,” he says instead, returning a smile to her. “Please pass my thanks on to the Queen Dahye and Prince Changbin.” 

“Of course, Your Highness.” She bows again, and Hyunjin wonders if she hasn’t been instructed to be overpolite. “There is a tub of water ready for you over there,” she gestures to a folding screen, “and your clothes have been laid out on the bed for you. Someone will come to take you to dinner.” She looks at him almost expectantly, wringing her hands in front of her, waiting. Hyunjin blinks at her, unsure exactly what she wants from him. They don’t tip servants here do they? He’s read they do that in some of the kingdoms of Men, but the practice is unfavorable to Elves, as far as he’s aware. It certainly feels rude, anyway.

“If I may take my leave?” She finally asks when it’s clear Hyunjin intends to say nothing.

“Oh,” he bobs his head quickly in apology, “of course. Please do.”

“Dinner will begin when the sun’s light is no longer visible.”

“Wh-” The door clicks shut before Hyunjin can finish his question. He supposes he can ask Changbin later.

The press for time on as the sun’s deep golden light pulls ever farther from his room, Hyunjin bathes quickly, relishing the feeling of being truly clean after sleeping on the ground and nearly two days of travel. The water is cooler than he might usually wish, but it’s refreshing and rejuvenating, chasing away a tired ache Hyunjin hadn’t even realized was there.

He looks and feels more prepared after his bath, rubbing a towel against dripping hair in the hopes it will dry before dinner. The fall air is still pleasantly warm - though he’s sure by the time he returns that will change - and the light breezes that blow in from the room’s balcony help speed up the process. With only the slightest bit of resignation, Hyunjin turns his attention to the clothes.

It isn’t that they’re particularly complicated, though the art of tying the belt without it looking like a child had done it had taken him longer to master than he’ll ever admit, it’s just that the silk is heavy and unbearably hot and comfortable to be in for more than about ten minutes. Still, it is what his parents want and what is expected in such a situation, so Hyunjin begrudgingly pulls on the dark green trousers, and muted red undershirt, stitched at the sleeves with rich purple thread, twisting into intricate knots and patterns before branching into flowers and leaves. Over that, he fastens a wine red tunic, this one with simpler stitching, now in gold and orange, curling around the color and the edges of his much shorter sleeves. Lastly, the belt: rich, royal purple and long, both slippery and catching on every callous his poor hands have gained throughout his life. Even after years, Hyunjin is not so deft in tying it as the attendants who used to help him, but with his careful pace, he makes it look just as good. 

His room has grown considerably dim when Hyunjin at long last neatens up his hair and sighs at the mirror, wiggling his eyebrows up and down and scrunching his face all manner of ways in its last moments of pure freedom. He picks up the circlet gently; though it’s made of metal, it’s so thin Hyunjin has always feared he will break it. It’s three bands weave around each other, not unlike the patterns on his tunic, coming to a point in the center of his forehead. Along the sides, a few small leaves sprout, but it is the back where the golden bands truly become branches. Nearly a dozen leaves clutch at his head, never quite touching. It fits him perfectly, of course it does, but the metal is cold on his forehead and the movement of any part of his face above his nose feels all too foreign and constrained by the crown. If he so much as furrows his brow, the point will stab him.

It does feel more official though, Hyunjin will admit that as he tugs his bangs out from under it and lets them fall over the metal instead. He doesn’t feel quite so exposed and bared for the world to see, to pick apart and make their quick judgments on. Soldiers have their armor, Hyunjin has his crown.

His room is grainy as blue hour descends upon the kingdom for good. Hyunjin can’t help but to look outside, past the sheer inner curtains and into the dark, looming forest. The eerie silence is what unsettles him the most; there is not a single cricket or frog to be heard. A lone owl call echoes through the trees and though Hyunjin knows what it is, it still sends goosebumps running down his spine.

He’s infinitely glad they made it to the palace before sundown.

There’s a sharp rap at the door, presumably from his guide to dinner. Hyunjin is surprised to see not a servant, but two familiar faces. Minho’s tunic is a black and gold one Hyunjin doesn’t recall ever seeing, and Felix has changed into a dark green one. They look far more comfortable than he feels.

“You clean up well.” Minho’s brows raise in an appraising look and he smiles at Hyunjin. 

“He has to look good _some_ times,” Felix winks at Hyunjin, hiding behind Minho’s shoulder when Hyunjin scowls at him.

“I hope you spill sauce on that shirt, Felix.”

“I hope you embarrass yourself, Hyunjin.”

“Well, it will be embarrassing to both of you if we walk in late,” Minho cuts in. “So perhaps you can leave the bickering until after dinner.”

“You think it’s funny,” Felix says as they trail behind Minho, confidently striding down the hall. 

“Sure, but not when there are more important matters at hand.” Minho turns his head, looking through his arrows at them. “If you are late to this, then it will reflect badly on me. After the events of this summer, I would rather not try my luck with the king and queen’s displeasure again.”

That shuts Felix and Hyunjin right up. They don’t know much about the scolding Minho got for leaving Hyunjin alone for a week, but Minho had become extra cautious for a time after that, even more serious about his job than usual.

“I thought a servant would be the one taking us down,” Hyunjin elegantly changes the subject.

“I figured there would be no need to trouble them.” Minho leads them down another candlelit hall. “I remember the way to the dining room.”

Though he offers no explanation other to that, he does indeed seem to as they stop in front of grand oak doors. Minho pushes Hyunjin to the front as two guards open the doors and light pours into the hallway. The dining room is not what Hyunjin had been expecting. Unlike his kingdom’s, which is rectangular and mostly taken up by a table of the same shape, with windows all around it allowing a view into the palace’s inner courtyards, this one is round and spacious, though built up more than out. Though it is bright, well lit by dozens and dozens of lanterns, there are no windows that Hyunjin can see. The vaulted ceiling is domed, divided into six panels by white support beams. The panels are painted to look like the night sky, almost strikingly real. The table here is curved, not a whole circle but rather only the outline of one. And while this is odd, what Hyunjin finds most unusual is the floor. It’s some kind of black stone, so polished and gleaming that it reflects everything. It almost looks like water.

Obviously the table was built with it in mind, so that people can see it. But it feels absurd and like a waste of space. The stone is lovely, but it’s a floor. Hyunjin rarely looks twice at them.

He finds his place near the head of the table, one seat away from Minhyun and three from his parents. They all certainly look like a matching set; though the shades they wear are different, they are all colors of dawn and sunset. Most everyone else here is in something much darker toned. Many wear green, like Felix who sits on his other side (they are common elves of the realm, Felix tells him, representatives of their villages, welcomed in accordance with the new treaty). Others are in black, like Minho who stands a few feet behind (warriors and rebels, extended the same kindness that they had fought for).

“Prince Changbin is closest to you in age,” his mother whispers, leaning as close as she can, “so he will sit between you and Minhyun rather than next to the queen.”

“Why aren’t they here yet?” Hyunjin whispers back. “I thought it was more proper for the hosts to greet their guests.”

“It’s a bit different here.” She reaches over to pat his hand. “Just be polite, as always.”

The doors swing open again and she pulls away. Everyone at the table begins to stand, so Hyunjin follows.

“Presenting Her Majesty, Dahye, Queen Beneath the Stars.” A tall, elegant elf steps into the room in a dress of rich silver and white, with thread detailing that seems to sparkle like the stars in the light. Her crown is much more intricate than Hyunjin’s and thin strands of silver cascade into her hair, a smattering of diamonds catching in the light. 

“And His Royal Highness, Changbin, Prince Beneath the Stars.” Changbin, even upon Hyunjin’s first look at him, is clearly not the elfling he’d once known. He has gravitas that fills the room, confidence that lives in his spine and shoulders, pride that holds his head high. Changbin cuts an intimidating figure in black, his tunic’s hem and lapels patterned with the same thread as his mother’s dress. His crown looks simple, but Hyunjin would bet it’s more uncomfortable than his own. Tiny diamonds pepper his head, and when he moves the thin metal strands to which they’re attached shine through his hair. 

“We are delighted to welcome our esteemed guests from the Kingdom Beneath the Sun,” Queen Dahye tilts her head in acknowledgement towards Hyunjin’s family and Changbin bows slightly behind her. Hyunjin and his family bow in return, with murmured thanks and delight to be here. 

“Hyunjin,” Felix whispers, nudging him as they wait for Changbin and his mother to take their seats. Hyunjin looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “Look.” He jerks his head at Changbin.

No, Hyunjin realizes, not at Changbin but at the elf behind him. He’d been so caught up in Changbin he hadn’t even seen the other one. Decked in black and gray, this elf is evidently Changbin’s guard. There’s a certain softness to his face, a wide eyed friendliness that does not suit the deadly weapons on his back and at his side. He’s blond, like Minho, but his hair reminds Hyunjin of a wheatfield after rain. There’s something lackluster to him, even with the bright eyes. Something that, the more Hyunjin studies him, seems to extend to his entire being, like he’s wearing his weariness as a cloak. 

“I know the Blessed aren’t real,” he whispers back, trying to keep the pout out of his voice. “Minho said so. You don’t have to rub it in.”

“No,” Felix shakes his head, “ _look_.”

So once again, Hyunjin looks. Then he moves past the weariness and sees the golden cloth tied around the elf’s arm and notices the golden inlay on the bow. They’re just like Minho’s. His eyes go wide.

Could this be Jeongin?

He’d ask, but Changbin and his guard arrive at the table and Hyunjin clamps his mouth shut to smile at them instead.

Changbin is less intimidating up close, where Hyunjin can see that he’s not so tall as his attitude makes him seem. Changbin’s smile is polite and friendly, and though he looks at Hyunjin like he’s analyzing a battle plan, there’s nothing particularly frightening about him. He just seems very self assured and proud.

Hyunjin can’t even be mad at the cockiness he can feel radiating from him. Pride is important to Elves, and Changbin has survived a war that has stolen his childhood. Quite frankly, he deserves his pride.

“It’s been a while,” Hyunjin says as they begin dinner. Changbin hums.

“So it has.” He cuts into his quail. “You used to be shorter than me.” 

“And you used to be more unsure of yourself.” Changbin hums again.

“Times change.”

“They do indeed.” Hyunjin pauses for a moment. “I’m sorry about the king.” He keeps his voice carefully neutral, eyeing Changbin in case this is a topic he shouldn’t have broached. But Changbin just shrugs.

“Don’t be.” Changbin says it almost flippantly. “It doesn’t really bother me. I’m surprised it took as long as it did.”

“But he was your father…” 

“He stopped feeling like a father when he started caring about power.” Changbin’s eyes flick to Hyunjin’s over his goblet. “It upset me at first, but I think it was for the better. He was never going to change, and things were never going to improve.” He sighs. “You saw the forest. We’re still paying for his decisions. My father was selfish; I don’t want to be.”

“Oh,” is all Hyunjin can say, spearing a mushroom. He can see Felix shift beside him and is reminded of yesterday’s argument with Minho. “I didn’t know he was… like that. My apologies.”

“Well, how could you?” Changbin’s voice remains light and unbothered. “It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway.”

“I suppose not.”

“Who’s your friend?” Changbin asks, raising a brow at Felix.

“Oh, this is Felix.” Felix bows his head politely in greeting. “My advisor.” An "oh” of understanding. “Do you have one, Changbin?”

“No,” Changbin answers thoughtfully. “I’ve been a bit too preoccupied to find one.” Hyunjin mentally grimaces, but Changbin seems more playful than genuinely snippy about it. He must tense because Changbin laughs a bit. “Hyunjin, I appreciate your concern, but it’s really not as touchy a subject as you think. I grew up with war; it feels more normal than not. It just became part of life, as unfortunate as it is.”

“I can’t imagine growing up with that.” Hyunjin frowns. “It doesn’t seem right.”

“I won’t pretend it’s fun,” Changbin says bluntly. “But you do get used to it. And if nothing else,” his confidence blooms in his eyes, “I learned to fight and I learned how to fight well.” He quirks a brow at Hyunjin. “I heard you’re good with a sword. I’ll spar you.” It almost feels like an order. Now some of Hyunjin’s confidence comes in and he straightens his back.

“I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.” He lets his knife solidly clank his plate as he cuts a piece of meat. “You don’t strike me as the type to favor a sword.”

“You’re right,” Changbin admits easily, “I’m not. But I’m well versed enough in most weapons that I think I could take you.”

“Why don’t we both play to our strengths then?” Hyunjin challenges. “It’ll be more fun. Pick your poison.”

“You know, I really don’t advise-” Felix is utterly ignored.

“All right.” Changbin grins, almost as if he’s played Hyunjin. It isn’t malicious, however, but genuinely excited. He twirls his knife between his fingers. “Sounds interesting. Your sword versus my knives.” His eyes sparkle. “It’s been ages since I’ve sparred with anyone other than Jisung.”

Jisung?

Hyunjin has no chance to ask. The moment he opens his mouth the room is suddenly plunged into darkness and there’s an echoing, loud shifting above.

“Changbin, what’s going on?” He tilts his head to the ceiling and watches the panels slowly open to reveal velvet blue sky and all its millions of stars.

“Just wait.” Changbin takes an exalted breath. “And look down.”

So Hyunjin does and can’t help that his jaw drops in wonder. The floor has transformed into its own night sky, reflecting the glimmering light.

“Sunshine may not bestow the same blessings upon our kingdom as yours, but this is our pride,” Changbin tells him reverently. “We call it the Sea of Stars.” Gradually, candles are lit around the room, adding the orange glow of fire light to the sky. Plates are switched out and goblets refilled and Changbin smiles at Hyunjin and stretches his arms over his head.

“Now is the time to relax and be merry. You should send your guard away. I suspect he deserves a break.” Another order, though kindly phrased. Changbin’s own guard, so utterly still in the shadows that Hyunjin had forgotten he was there, steps forward to take his own leave. Hyunjin catches the glimpse of mischief on his face as he walks past Changbin and flicks the back of his head without so much as a glance. Changbin retaliates with a quick slap of his hand.

Hyunjin turns to Minho, only just visible in the candles’ warm glow. For once, he’s looking away; towards Changbin’s guard rather than at Hyunjin or Felix.

“Minho.” He whips his head back towards Hyunjin. “You can go. I’ll see you in the morning.” Minho looks from Hyunjin to Felix to Changbin, then nods. 

"As you wish, Prince Hyunjin." 

  
  


"Boo!"

No sooner have the heavy doors shut behind Minho than someone behind him claps a hand over his mouth. Minho nearly leaps out of his skin, reflexively elbowing them in the chest and tearing the hand away from his mouth.

"Damn it, Jisung! You know I hate that." Jisung laughs behind him, pure sunlight in the dark halls. 

"And that is exactly why it is so fun. I wish I could have seen your face." There's a gentle tug at Minho's sleeve. "Come on. This is no place to talk." 

"You act like you are not just as jumpy as I am." Minho juts out his chin, but follows Jisung without a moment's hesitation.

"Irrelevant."

"I do recall you falling out of a chair when Jeongin surprised you once." 

"Why do you still remember that?" Jisung whines, betrayal in his voice. "It was over 30 years ago. You said you would never mention it." 

"How could I forget such a fond memory?" Minho says with every possible ounce of annoying saccharinity he can muster. "I think of it whenever I need a laugh." 

"I am so glad my suffering brings you joy," Jisung deadpans. "You and Jeongin are two peas in a pod." 

"Devilishly handsome and clever?" Minho grins as Jisung turns to give him a wonderfully unimpressed look. 

"Annoying," he levels. 

"How could you speak to your elder like that?" Minho lays a hand on his heart in mock offense and Jisung sticks out his tongue. 

"My apologies. I should be kind to the elderly. Would you like me to offer you my arm for support? Should I raise my voice so you can hear better?" 

"A decade, Jisung." Minho lunges for him, but Jisung dances out of the way.

"My, my. I do believe you have gotten slower. Is this what I have to look forward to when I get to your age? What a frightening idea." 

"You will never get the chance to find out if I kill you first," Minho threatens, making another swipe at Jisung. "Younghyun might be above kicking your ass, but I certainly am not." Jisung bounces on his toes, winks, and bolts. "Get back here!" 

They sprint through the halls like young children yet unaware of anything aside from the desire to just be. To have fun. Young children who know not the unfairness of the world. 

"Okay," Jisung throws his hands up with a laugh when they burst out onto a balcony, "you win. You are not old." Minho's hands land heavily on his shoulders as he stops himself, a wide smile splitting his face. His eyes are full of more than just stars. 

"I have missed you." He thunks his head against Jisung, before pulling him into a tight hug and Jisung returns the gesture, sinking against Minho.

"I missed you too." There are long years behind the embrace, a sort of understanding and comfort words can no longer truly touch on. It's warm, so very warm. More so than either one of them alone. Jisung sighs into Minho's shoulder and Minho nearly does the same. Even if only for these brief moments, neither of them feel tired. Neither of them feel empty or cold. 

Though neither of them are the piece to complete each other's souls, for right now, they are enough. 

"Stars above," Jisung says as he pulls away and leans against the balustrade, head tilted up towards the sky, "how long has it been?" Minho joins him, close enough that their biceps are pressed together. 

"9 years, is it not? You had just become Changbin's guard and I had been sent to kill the king." 

"Right." Jisung lets out a puff of air. "How could I forget? You should have seen the look on your face when Hyunjin brought it up. I cannot recall ever seeing such panic in your eyes." 

"All for naught, at least." Minho sighs and tilts his head back as well. "I have never really had to face the fallout of my actions. I am not sure what I would have done if Changbin had been upset about it." 

"Moved on, I suppose. You and I both know guilt does not belong to elves like us." Minho hums flatly. “I, for one, will never reproach you for it. I only wish I had had the honor of killing the bastard myself.”

“You must be glad the war is over,” Minho says. “After all it took from you.” Jisung is quiet in a silent sort of agreement. “I am surprised you hold nothing against Changbin.”

“Blame the father, not the son.” Jisung shrugs. "My deepest grudge was not really with him anyway."

“You probably would have ended up on the less friendly end of his knives had things been different.” Minho exhales sharply through his nose, allows just one beat of airy laughter. 

“Probably.” It’s utterly nonplussed.

“Funny things, our lives.”

“Yet they say irony is a mortal creation.” A warm breeze blows through the leaves, filling the air with a gentle rustling. “I suppose even gods enjoy a laugh. At my expense, of course.” This earns actual amusement from Minho, his laugh ringing in the wind. Jisung lets himself be caught up in the infectious sound until he himself is giggling between breaths. It ends shortly, with a content sigh of finality from Minho.

"I saw Jeongin last week." Jisung looks over to Minho. 

"Oh?" 

"He came of age while you two have been here, did he not? He looks oddly grown up and yet as though he has not changed at all." A noise of confirmation. 

"Couple years ago." 

"You are proud of him," Jisung claims, more from knowing Minho than any observation. He pokes him lightly. 

"Of course I am. Anyone who knows him would be." Despite the nonchalant, blasé air to Minho's words, his underlying fondness is all too evident. 

"Not everyone is you," Jisung points out. Minho doesn't respond to that. "By Stars, I forgot how good being around light feels," Jisung admits when it's clear Minho is going to remain silent. "I forgot how much I _need_ it. Between yours and Jeongin's, every fiber of my being feels warmed. I missed it. Truthfully," his voice drops a bit and Jisung bites his lip, "I have been cold recently. I have been tired. I know Younghyun has been as well; I can feel it." 

"Jisung…" Minho rests a hand on his shoulder, eyes full of concern. Jisung shakes his head a bit.

“I think I will be called home soon. I feel the pull.” Jisung smiles a little at the thought. “I am looking forward to it.”

“Will you not miss him?” Minho folds his arms, brow raised. 

“Changbin? Of course I will; he has been my sole focus for almost a decade and a good friend, despite everything. But it is time for our paths to diverge.”

“Does Changbin know?”

“I have not mentioned it.” Jisung shrugs. “I still do not know when I will leave, just that I will. I should think he will be happy for me. I talk about home a lot.” He looks over at Minho. “I will tell him, when I know more. Even if it does not matter in the long run, I think he deserves to know.”

“Deserves to know…” Minho echoes. They fall silent again. An owl screeches somewhere in the trees. “Jisung?” Minho’s voice is quieter now, more pensive. “Does he know who… what you are?”

“He knows a bit.” There’s a breath, an amused exhale. The corners of Jisung’s mouth tilt up. “It became difficult to keep it a secret about the third time I saved his life. Some bastard ran me straight through; kind of hard to explain not dying after that. Scared the living daylights out of Changbin when he saw I was okay. I think he thought I was a ghost or something." 

"Are we not ghosts, in a way?" Jisung smacks Minho's arm. 

"Do not start that again. If you were a ghost, I would not be able to hit you, now would I?" 

"That is your point of contention?" Minho raises a brow in amusement. 

"It felt the most relevant this time." Jisung hits him again lightly. "Once more for good measure. See? Not a ghost." 

"Is this your invitation to spar?" Minho pokes at Jisung. Once, then again, then a few more times until Jisung whines and pushes his hands away. 

"I thought we were better than that." He rolls his eyes at the mischief sparking on Minho's face, but dons a smile of his own. 

"You are just afraid to lose," Minho eggs him on. Decades ago, it might have worked. But Jisung is older now, appreciates a good bit of fun now and then but has matured enough not to take the bait for every chance to show his strength. 

"No, I am afraid to embarrass you in front of your dear charges." When Minho blinks in surprise, he continues. "Jeongin may have mentioned the second elf; Felix, is it? He did not have a glowing opinion on your decision." 

"He thinks he knows everything." Minho bites back a sigh. "I am capable of doing th-" 

"But he said that you were happy," Jisung cuts him in, "and that he would bite his tongue since that was the case. He is just worried, you know that. You know _why_." The silence that follows is heavy, pressing. It tugs at Minho's mouth and pulls it into a small frown. His hand comes to rub at the ribs over his heart.

"How is he?" He asks quietly, snapping the silence like a twig. It's suddenly more serious and somber than before. "He was…"

"Hurt," Jisung finishes, matching the softness. "I know. He told me." Gently, he places his hand on Minho's shoulder. "He is all right. Not quite himself yet, but he is healing well. You know he is stronger than most. He said he expects he will visit you soon, so you can see for yourself then." 

"I am glad." Something in Minho visibly relaxes. "I miss him." 

"He misses you too." Minho snorts. 

"Jeongin said that?" There's no serious bite to it.

"He did not have to." Jisung catches his bottom lip with his teeth. "Minho, how much light did you give him?" 

"About half of mine; he was pretty bad. Why?" A careful look in Jisung's direction. 

"And how long have you been here?" 

"A decade. Why does it matter?" Jisung's lips purse in thought. 

"You should be careful," he finally says. Minho's eyes narrow, just for a split second. It's long enough to feel the wall he throws up around the topic. A clear "I don't want to talk about it." But Jisung is never one to let a wall stand in his way. “You will burn out if you keep to this course.”

“Jisung.” There’s a warning lilt to Minho’s voice, a serious sort of cautionary flame that licks the very edges of his words and leaves them black and charred. “Leave it. I know my own limits.”

“Knowing them and abiding by them are two different things.” He could easily back down, let the flames go out on their own or even douse them. But Jisung is incendiary. “Or do you really wish to learn that lesson?” Sure enough the fire reaches Minho’s eyes.

The thing about Minho is that he doesn’t explode. 

Jisung does, with sharp words as hot as iron brands, embedding themselves like shrapnel.

Jeongin does, and burns everyone around him.

Even Younghyun does, as quick, sudden, and bright as a firework. 

But not Minho. At least not in anger.

He breathes out, and the heat vanishes from his eyes just as the tension in his back. He doesn't rebuke Jisung, but there’s a clear finality in the lines of his face and his posture. Jisung knows when he’s reached an impasse and so traps whatever thoughts he intended to voice as though they were nothing more than fireflies. He gives them no way to breathe in the hopes that they will die and he will forget them.

"This is not just fun for Changbin, is it?" Minho crushes them beneath the heel of his boot. For now, their wings go still and their lights go out. He looks at Jisung out of the corner of his eye. Jisung hums. "A test?" 

"If you know, why bother asking?" Minho kicks Jisung's foot lightly, making a face that Jisung reciprocates in kind before grinning a bit. "Of course it is a test."

"Changbin is clever."

"Well, he would not have made it this far if he was a fool." Jisung winks. "Or without me, I suppose." He's met with an eye roll, but a smile as well in spite of it.

“Do you think Hyunjin stands a chance?”

“Minhoooo.” A whine that can only be Hyunjin reaches their ears from the depths of the palace. In unspoken coordination, Jisung and Minho both head towards it.

“Not sure,” Jisung answers. “I have never seen Hyunjin fight before; I do not know his skill. But then neither has Changbin.” He lets a thoughtful pause fall between them. “And Hyunjin has never seen Changbin fight.”

“Knives are usually at a disadvantage.” Another whine, louder this time as they get ever closer to the dining room. 

“Not in Changbin’s hands.” Jisung shakes his head. “He has trained with them since he was a mere elfling, and has had more practical experience than anyone his age should.”

“He will win,” Minho concludes after a short pause as they round a corner. That earns a snort from Jisung.

“Your faith in Hyunjin amazes me. Surely you should be on his side.”

“Surely I should be realistic,” Minho retorts easily. “Personal bias should not delude us. Besides,” he grins at Jisung, “I intend to see if I cannot wager against Felix. As a dutiful best friend, I would think he will support Hyunjin.”

“You do that.” Jisung rolls his eyes and they turn into the final hallway leading to the source of the whine. Felix and Hyunjin are visible now, and based on the slumped postures and the way Hyunjin is practically using Felix for support, it isn’t hard to guess both of them are at least tipsy. 

“He’s been complaining that you left for the past ten minutes,” Felix announces when Minho and Jisung finally reach them. Felix’s words are slurred, though only slightly, and his eyes are mostly focused and clear. He seems more tired than anything, as tends to be the case with drunk elves. At the very least, Felix still looks put together. 

“Minhooo,” Hyunjin whines again, detaching himself from Felix and throwing himself at Minho with such force that Minho has to step back to regain his balance. “I’m so sleepyyyyy.” He hugs Minho tightly, mumbling something about how quail is his favorite meat and how it was really nice of Changbin’s family to make it. Most of his drunken praises are caught in Minho’s shoulder and are too muffled to be discernible.

“I’d take him back myself but I’m not sure I’d trust myself to carry him right now, and there’s no use in trying to get him to walk. It’ll end badly.” Felix runs a hand through his hair. “And he seems to only want you anyway.”

“Is he always like this?” Minho asks, trying to disentangle himself from Hyunjin’s surprisingly iron grip. 

“Unfortunately,” Felix sighs. “He usually doesn’t drink this much because it makes him…” he waves a hand at Hyunjin and makes a vague noise in the back of his throat, “whatever you want to call this. But he’s a social drinker, and Prince Changbin has a high tolerance, I guess. Not to mention they got into some sort of competition over it.” Another sigh, but this one is more rueful. Minho succeeds from pushing Hyunjin off him, which Hyunjin doesn’t seem happy about. Propping one hand on his chest to keep him back, Minho fights with his bow and quiver to get them off his back.

“Stars above.” Jisung reaches forward. “Let me do it.” He sounds expasterated, but is gentle in removing them. He looks at Hyunjin and Felix, then at Minho. “I will take these to your room for you,” he says, patting Minho on the back. “We will talk more later.” Minho makes a hum in the back of his throat, both in confirmation and thanks. 

“All right, Hyunjin, you can get on my back.” 

“I wanted to meet Jeongin,” Hyunjin pouts as he hops onto Minho and loops his arms around his neck. 

“Jeongin?” Minho adjusts his grip on his legs and looks around them in confused amusement. Felix just gives him a wide eyed look that conveys similar sentiment. “Why on earth would you meet Jeongin? He is not even in the kingdom.”

“Well who’s that then?” Hyunjin points down the hall, now empty. Minho laughs.

“That was Jisung,” he explains. “He is a dear friend, but he is certainly not Jeongin.”

“Changbin never introduced him,” Hyunjin continues, pout still audible. “Felix thought he was Jeongin too.”

“Did not,” Felix protests.

“Yes you diiiiiid. You said so yourself. He said he thought he was Jeongin,” Hyunjin whispers loudly in Minho’s ear, for good measure. “I still wanna meet him.” They begin the journey back to Hyunjin and Felix’s rooms.

“We shall see.” Minho sighs a bit. “I am not entirely sure how much he will want to meet _you_.”

“I’m lovely. Aren’t I lovely? Felix is lovely. We’re both nice. Aren’t we, Felix?”

“We are.” Felix nods solemnly. Hyunjin rests heavily on Minho’s back, as though he’s making no effort at all to hold any of his weight. His head is on Minho’s shoulder, chin digging solidly into the bone in a way that Minho cannot imagine is comfortable for him.

“You’re nice too. Sooo nice.” If it were physically possible for Hyunjin to be any closer, Minho’s pretty sure he would be. “And warm. You’re so warm, Minho. I like that you’re warm. It’s like, when you drink something hot, how your insides feel all warm. But not. You know? I believe in you. I believe in you so, so much.”

Minho looks over to Felix and Felix just shrugs, mouth twisting into an ambiguous sort of “your guess is as good as mine.” 

“You drink like a Man, Hyunjin,” Minho tells him. There’s a gasp at that.

“That’s the meanest thing anyone’s ever said to me, take it back.”

“I will not.” Hyunjin puts his hands on Minho’s shoulders and tries to prop himself up, sending Minho into a stumble at the sudden shift of balance.

“You’re mean, so mean. I don’t drink like a Man. I’m barely drunk; Men get drunk. Felix, tell him.”

“You kind of do,” Felix admits, scratching the back of his head. 

“I hate you both. I am no longer affiliated with either of you.” Hyunjin humphs and falls heavily back onto Minho, head still like a crushing conscience on his shoulder. “Drink like a Man,” he mutters to no one, seemingly genuinely offended. “The indignity.”

“Come on, now-”

“I’m not talking to you anymore, traitor.” Hyunjin turns his nose up at Felix.

“Hyunjin-” Minho tries.

“Not talking to you either.”

“Very well.” Minho looks at Felix, not bothering to continue feeding the ridiculous argument. “So how did you enjoy dinner?”

“It was all right.” Felix yawns. “Prince Changbin seems nice enough. Don’t really know what I was expecting him to be, but he definitely wasn’t it.” Minho hums.

“You are tired?”

“I think the wine here is stronger than back home. I didn’t have that much but I feel as though I could sleep two days straight.” 

“That is good, is it not?” Minho raises a brow. “Perhaps you should drink more often.”

“I don’t much like drinking.” Felix shakes his head. “It makes my fingers tingly and weird. The sleeping is a nice side effect though, and every once in a while it’s fun.” He studies Minho’s face carefully, recalls the traces of weariness set beneath his eyes and in his posture this morning. They’re gone now, dissipated like the mist. Perhaps Felix had imagined them. 

“What?” Minho asks when Felix scrutinizes him a little too long. Felix looks away quickly.

“Nothing.” They fall into silence for the rest of the (thankfully brief) walk to Hyunjin’s room. He’s stuck to his silent treatment aside from grumbling something incomprehensible to himself, but even half-drunk Hyunjin wishes Felix “good night” as he walks down the hall to his own chambers. Minho struggles to open the door with his elbow, falling into the darkness when he suddenly gets it. He unceremoniously drops Hyunjin’s legs when they reach the bed, and nearly chokes when Hyunjin doesn’t let go of his looped arms. Minho turns so it’s only the back of his neck being pushed down, rather than his windpipe being crushed. Hyunjin’s eyes are closed, as though he’s already fallen asleep.

Minho props himself up with one hand and flicks Hyunjin square in the forehead, just above the point of his crown. Hard.

“Ow,” Hyunjin whines, squeezing his eyes tightly in a flinch.

“Let go.” Hyunjin’s eyes open, far clearer than they’d been earlier.

“Hm, don’t wanna.” He grins at Minho.

“You sober up quick.”

“And you could easily break my hold or wriggle out if you wanted,” Hyunjin counters, but lets his arms fall anyway. “I might get drunk like a Man, but I am blessed to sober up like an Elf.” Minho stands, stretching his arms and massaging his shoulders, and Hyunjin sits up slowly, a hand gently patting the back of his head where the leaves on his crown have dug in painfully. He can’t help but to sigh in relief when he frees himself from his golden prison.

“Minho.” Hyunjin’s fingers run along the hard metal, eyes drifting from his lap to his guard. “I meant what I said earlier, you know? I do believe in you.” Minho blinks at him. “A lot.”

“I am glad.” There’s a soft ruffle of Hyunjin’s hair, a gentle smile. “I too meant what I said. So long as I am here, I will not let you die.” Hyunjin catches Minho’s wrist, and removes it from his hair, brows furrowing.

“By your life, I know.” Minho gives a single nod, making no move to take back his hand. “Please don’t.”

“Sorry?” Hyunjin’s furrowed brow is mirrored as Minho tilts his head. The fingers around his wrist tighten.

“Don’t die to save me. Ever. I don’t care if it’s your ‘duty’ or what have you; please don’t.” Hyunjin looks up at Minho with earnest eyes. Minho smiles again, smaller. He breaks Hyunjin’s grip.

“I appreciate your concern, Hyunjin, but you really have no need to worry. I would die for you,” something odd plays across his face, something indiscernible, “but destiny will never allow it.” He lets out a single breath of laughter. “In another life perhaps, but not this one.” 

It’s Hyunjin’s turn to tilt his head.

“What do you mean?” Minho shakes his head.

“It matters not. Goodnight, Hyunjin.” He pushes his hand through Hyunjin’s hair once more, sending soothing, warm starlight running through his veins and calling for rest. “Sleep well. You will need to if you wish to stand a chance against Changbin.”

“Thank you for the rousing support,” Hyunjin calls as Minho reaches the door. He winks, before vanishing into the hall. Now Hyunjin should derobe, should actually go to bed. But instead he falls back down to stare at the ceiling. It lacks the night sky motif he’s noticed everywhere in the palace. Rather, it’s white and has the illusion of going on forever.

He supposes it’s meant to mimic the high ceilings and bright rooms of his kingdom.

Light.

Warm.

Minho.

_“So long as I am here.”_

Does he intend to leave?

It hurts a little more than Hyunjin expects it to; a dull ache pressing against his heart and ribs.

What to do?

He forces himself from the clutches of his sheets before he really does fall asleep in the oppressive silk robes. 

What to do?

Sleep comes before he can settle on an answer.

  
  


The morning finds Minho and Felix in the library. Felix not particularly wanting to watch Hyunjin and Changbin spar for the next several hours, and Minho, entrusting Hyunjin to a more than capable Jisung, saying he would spend the day with him. 

“I’m just going to read,” Felix had said. “It’s not exactly the most dangerous activity.”

“I enjoy a good book.” Minho had sounded too genuine to refute. “And I like spending time with you outside of ‘dangerous activities.’”

So here they are now, seated at the long table smack in the middle of the room, running the length of the library. They sit across from each other, Felix poring over a philosophy book and Minho, in theory, reading up on herbal healing.

He spends most of his time glancing over at Felix with something contemplative in his eyes, brow furrowed like he’s trying to see something but can’t quite. 

“I bet you Changbin will win,” he says eventually, not losing the look on his face. Felix snorts.

“Why would I take a bet I know I’m going to lose?” He asks without looking up, flipping to his next page. 

“I should think you would want to support Hyunjin.” Now Felix raises his head, a brow quirked.

“I support him, I just don’t think he’ll win. Hyunjin can beat me in a sword fight no problem, but I’m not Prince Changbin. He’s never really fought someone with actual battle experience.”

“He has fought me,” Minho points out.

“All right." Felix chooses not to dwell on this piece. "But he did not win that either. And aside from experience, I think Prince Changbin is smart. He was confident in using knives, even against a sword, so skill can’t be the only thing he’s relying on. Hyunjin is full of surprises though, so perhaps he will turn the tables.” Felix shoots Minho a look. “Of course, if he asks, I always thought he would win.” Minho puts his hands up.

“I will not rat you out.”

Very suddenly, Felix closes his book.

“Spar with me?” He raises a brow at Minho and jerks his head towards the door. Minho makes a noise, a mix of agreement and surprise, laying down his own text and following behind Felix as he leads the way outside.

“Since when do you spar?” Minho asks, a hint of shock lacing his words. 

“Since Hyunjin said he’d only learn if I did.” Felix almost chuckles at the memory of a barely adolescent Hyunjin very nearly throwing a tantrum to get his parents to agree to allow Felix to join him.

“Hyunjin can spar?” Now Minho doesn’t even make an attempt to hide his surprise. Felix shakes his head in amusement.

“Not very well.” Even Hyunjin will readily admit that he’s abandoned anything more than basic knowledge of hand to hand combat. “I know what you mean though; he looks too regal for it.” It’s difficult to imagine Hyunjin punching anyone, even for Felix who’s seen him do it before. Swords have always suited his elegance better. There’s something less personal about them, something almost faraway and unreachable in a fight, but there’s also something more fluid to them. A dangerous dance, as beautiful as it is deadly.

Hand to hand combat is its own sort of dance, Felix supposes. An intimate, but brutal one. If swords remove their bearers from the damage they inflict, fists do the exact opposite. There is elegance in the choreographed practice Felix and Hyunjin had done years and years ago, elegance in lone shadow fighting, but all that is gone in any kind of real fight.

The skill set is different, and Felix, who spent many a day growing up wrestling with other elflings in his village for stupid, petty reasons, finds close combat comes more naturally to him than keeping his enemies at a distance.

And if Hyunjin’s elegant features suit the elegance of sword fighting, Felix likes to think his delicate ones juxtapose the harsh style of hand to hand.

“I’ve never actually seen you spar before,” Felix says when they reach a grassy courtyard near the forest. There are targets down a ways, but the area is devoid of any archers aside from Minho, who is carefully removing his bow and arrows and sword, laying them in the grass nearby. “I will go easy on you if you want.”

“Felix,” Minho replies lightly, already shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, “do you think I would be here if I could not hold my own? Do not bother holding back; you will not hurt me. You cannot.”

“Is that a challenge?” 

“Would you like it to be?” There’s a cocky smile on Minho’s face and his brows raise as if daring Felix to hit him. Something about the smirk feels familiar.

But that’s stupid. Felix seeks to shatter it.

He throws the first punch.

Despite Minho’s assurance that Felix need not worry, both of them are still fairly gentle with their strikes. That’s how they start out at least; a light kick to the side, a cross to the chest, a jab to the shoulder. If anything, their blocks hurt more than their hits. Forearm to forearm, bone to bone, even through their sleeves and Minho’s arm guards. The more into it they get, the harder the force behind these blocks becomes. Enough that Felix has no doubt that by tomorrow purple flowers will have bloomed on his skin. But for now, they have yet to grow and so the impacts are a dull ache, rather than an explosion against ginger bruises. 

Minho keeps up with Felix just as well as any soldier (though really, that isn’t a surprise), but Felix finds the way he moves almost predictable, feels like this is a dance they learned as children and that their muscles never forgot, even as they did. It’s as if his body responds of its own accord, without any sort of input from him. Analysis takes a backseat to reflex, and so whenever Minho _doesn’t_ move the way Felix anticipates, it’s more of a shock than he thinks it should be.

Nonetheless, everything seems fine when they silently agree on a small break, sweat just beginning to break on Felix’s forehead. Minho, aside from catching his breath, looks like he hasn’t even done anything. 

“You really are quite good,” Minho tells Felix appraisingly, as if he’d doubted it. But rather than doubt or surprise, there’s genuine pride in his eyes. Felix ducks his head. 

“I’m a bit out of practice,” he mumbles. “I’ve been too busy to really train the past few years.”

“I am serious.” Minho’s face is open, honest. “Especially considering that you only do this casually. If you had stuck with it, you could have made a good soldier.” 

“I thought about it as an elfling,” Felix laughs a bit, “but trust me, it was never my path to take.”

“I suppose if you were a soldier, I never would have met you,” Minho says thoughtfully. “There would be no reason for us to.”

“Did you always want to be a bodyguard?”

“Not especially.” A small shrug, like it’s neither here nor there. “I do what is asked of me. I _did_ want to be a soldier when I was young. I thought working in the palace would be life’s greatest achievement. I wanted the prestige more than anything.” Minho stretches his arms above his head, reaching, reaching towards the sky. It is gray today, pale with the warning of rain. “I guess I am lucky; I really did get everything I wanted.”

Felix hums, eyeing Minho with a look of mischief. He makes a dig for Minho’s ribs, playful, harmless. Just meant as jokey action about always keeping your guard up and perhaps to tickle him a bit and make him laugh. But before he knows it, before he can even really process what’s happening, his back hits the ground with enough force to knock the air out of him and Minho has him pinned down, knees pressing tightly, painfully, into Felix’s sides, a forearm pushed right up against his throat. There’s a knife in his other hand, one of the many hidden somewhere on his person, raised mere inches from Felix’s neck. Minho’s pupils are blown out; disturbed. Felix’s heart leaps into his throat and he forgets how to breathe for a moment as it lodges there. Minho, for the first time, looks truly dangerous. 

Looks like he might hurt Felix. Like he might kill him.

And though Minho’s hand trembles far, far too much, like this he very easily could.

Felix finds himself afraid, so much so his blood turns to ice in his veins. Yet the fear is not that Minho will kill him. Somehow, Felix knows he won't.

And he doesn’t, just stares at him - no... stares right through him - while Felix stares back and tries to restart his heart, tries to find his breath. Minho doesn’t move at all, save his heaving chest, and the longer Felix stares at him, the more he realizes that beneath the danger, Minho is afraid. Perhaps just as much as Felix, though as Minho proceeds to not move a muscle, Felix’s fear ebbs into confusion. 

“Minho?” He receives no response, though with the bruising force Minho is holding his ribs with and the arm at his throat, his voice is very thin. Felix raises a hand towards Minho’s face and Minho flinches inadvertently, causing Felix to frown. He's gone pale, all the blood draining from his face and turning him the same color as his knuckles, too white against the mahogany hilt of the dagger. Still he stares, stares, stares right through Felix, as though he isn’t there at all. 

Does Minho even realize he's doing it?

Is it even Felix that he sees?

His eyes swim with something Felix can't even put a name to. They're glassy. Hard. 

Fragile.

It isn’t simply fear that Felix is reflected in. The longer they stare at each other, the more he recognizes it as terror. As pain, so utterly foreign to Minho’s face.

“Minho.” Gently, Felix’s hand meets Minho’s cheek. This time, though the touch barely even makes contact with his skin, Minho pulls away like he’s been burned. Awareness shatters him and he jerks his arms away from Felix, practically throws himself off him and the knife into the grass. Felix’s ribs sing in relief, but he does not. Cannot.

“Sun above, Felix, I- I did not- I am-” Minho’s hands shake slightly and he clenches them into tight fists in his lap. “I am so sorry. I did not mean to hurt you. I would never hurt you.” He won’t look at Felix, now sitting up. 

“I know,” he assures. He’s more confused than hurt, at worst has a few bruises. “It’s okay.” Minho just shakes his head. 

“It is not. I could have killed you. That is not okay.” His voice is as shaky as his hands. “I am sorry,” he repeats. “You do not have to forgive me.” 

Felix scoots closer and takes one of Minho’s hands, startling him. He pulls at Minho’s fingers, uncurling them and frowning at the dark crescents Minho has dug into his palms. He does the same to the other hand. “Really, Minho, it’s… it’s not a big deal.” Felix sighs. “Well, I suppose it kind of is. You scared the life out of me, but I… honestly, I never thought you would kill me.” He rubs circles against the back of one of Minho’s hands. “I surprised you; you startle easily. I shouldn’t have.” 

There’s a heavy look on Minho’s face as his other hand comes up to his side protectively, fingers splaying over his ribs then bunching at the fabric of his tunic. It seems almost unconscious and Felix tilts his head a bit, studying the motion. He’s noticed this a few times: Minho’s habit of shielding this area in particular. It’s odd, something Felix can’t see an explanation for and hasn’t seen anyone else do. His hand comes to rest on Minho’s knee and he traces meaningless lines against it.

“Does it hurt?” He asks softly. Minho gives him a questioning look and Felix jerks his head at his side. There’s a quiet, all too loaded moment of consideration - so long Felix almost thinks he won't get a response - before Minho answers.

“Yes.” 

“I’m sorry,” Felix winces, “I should have been more careful.” Minho shakes his head and places his hand over Felix’s, quieting his fingers.

“You did not know.” His thumb runs over the back of Felix’s hand. “What happened was my fault and mine alone. I should have-” Minho cuts himself off, shakes his head with a start. Something in his face drops and Felix can see a deep set exhaustion, like this is not the first time and Minho is tired of going through it again and again. "I am just out of sorts. I should have warned you I was more on edge today." His eyes shut, thumb pressing hard circles into his ribs. "Especially about my side." 

There's a lie somewhere within there. Or if not a lie, then a half truth - something that Minho wishes to hide. Felix doesn't press it, but it's an odd kind of realization, an inconsistency in his belief that Minho lives by honesty. 

Somehow such a thing had seemed fitting of him. It had been Minho himself, upon their first meeting, who had said that he had nothing to gain from lying. Now, as Felix studies his face, watches his Adam's apple bob as he makes a hard swallow, he wonders. 

What lies live in Minho's throat? Behind his dark eyes? What has he hidden behind bright smiles and sparkling laughter?

"I thought it would be all right," Minho murmurs, even more softly, head falling back and eyes opening to look up at the sky. He says it more to himself than to Felix, to the wind that blows through their hair and wraps around them with the now heavy promise of incoming rain. Felix looks up as well, as if there will be some sort of answer up there. His eyes drop back to Minho when he finds nothing. 

The stark gray sky is devoid of the light Minho always searches for. The emptiness reflects in his face, lost and suddenly very young and unsure. 

It's oddly familiar to Felix, like he's seen it in Minho before. But how could he? 

"Maybe it will never be all right." The whisper is caught by the breeze, an unspoken question entwined within it. It pokes at an old ache in Felix's heart, a sadness that never truly belonged to him. Gentle tapping fills the air around them as the clouds open. The rain is cold as it hits their skin and soaks through their shirts, but warm as drips from their hair down their faces. 

"I hate the rain," Minho says quietly, weariness creeping into his voice as though only just escaping the confines of his throat, face set with something Felix can't decipher the meaning of, desperately as he tries. But the rain is heavy for him too right now, more than it ever has been before, as though an uncomfortable reminder sitting on his chest and weighing him down just as it does Minho's shoulders. 

"Me too,” he finds himself agreeing, words flying out before he can trap them in their cage. The rain falls ever more steadily, until it is practically a sheet of water. Yet both of them sit frozen beneath it, unable to make their legs move.

_“Don’t go.” Knots in his stomach. Tighter. Tighter. “I’m serious, don’t go.”_

_Bright sun chased behind gray clouds. The wind rustles the leaves. It feels angry. Upset. As though the forest has been wronged._

_The rain is cold, too cold for summer. Just like the day. It is thunderous as it pours._

_Smell of the forest as though born anew. He doesn’t come back._

_Knots so tight they make Felix sick._

_"I used to want to run away, you know."_

_He doesn’t come back._

_Arrows scattered in the forest, snapped in two._

_"Then I met you and the world didn't feel quite so unkind."_

_He doesn’t come back._

_Eyes full of stars Felix will never see again. He failed him._

_“I don’t care.” Maybe if Felix lies enough, he can lie to his heart. "I didn’t care.”_

_He never comes back._

Rain drips from the corners of Felix’s eyes.

“Me too.” 

Minho is quieter than normal after that. As they gather in Hyunjin’s room to wait for dinner, he listens to Hyunjin chatter excitedly about sparring with Changbin with a smile, but there’s something forced about it. There’s an occasional well timed noise of interest, a hum of acknowledgement or surprise, but he takes no chance to poke fun or throw in an unexpected compliment. 

Felix is better, more his usual self as Hyunjin talks, but the way his eyes flit to Minho does not go unnoticed. 

The silence that engulfs him is loud.

It isn’t the peaceful silence Felix and Hyunjin are so used to, the silence born of comfort and Minho’s nature. This one is shadowlike, looming, with teeth that grip at Minho, that eat away at them all. It makes Hyunjin stumble, swallows his story whole until there is nothing left for him to say. His spirit isn’t enough to combat whatever this is.

“The rain did not put a damper on anything?” Minho asks quietly when none of them dare break the silence for nearly a minute. His posture is stiff, arms folded as he leans against the wall and looks at Hyunjin, seated on the bed, or maybe at Felix, who’s pulled up the chair from the dressing table, or maybe at the empty space between them. Every so often he shifts his shoulders, like it will somehow keep his quiver from pressing against his spine.

Everything about him screams discomfort.

Still, there’s a certain effort for normalcy in the fixed calm in his voice, wedged tightly in his throat like Minho doesn't know how else to be. Unlike the Jeongin incident, Minho is not unsettled. Shaken, certainly, but still standing. While then he seemed to be gone from himself, now more than usual he seems to be deep within his own mind. 

"It was refreshing." Hyunjin shrugs. He smiles a bit. "I like being in the rain." It has long since stopped, the clouds clearing away in the late afternoon. Orange light pours into his room, breaking through the screen of mist that has risen from the damp earth. Gold threads hidden in Minho's dark tunic shimmer as they catch the sun. Hyunjin is reminded of a polished bit of golden obsidian - gifted to him by a diplomat from one of the western kingdoms - that sits on his dressing table back home. 

"Did something happen to you two?" He chances, tilting his head at Minho, then turning towards Felix with a furrowed brow. Felix's eyes avoid his, however, and instead they dart to Minho, just for a moment, before he studies the folding screen like it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen. Hyunjin will have to press him later, without Minho. 

"We were caught in the rain," Minho answers. "I suppose we enjoy it far less than you."

"The rain?" Hyunjin doubts it would cause the fog that clings to them. 

"Something like that," Felix tepidly agrees. He's looking at Minho again, that far off shadow falling across his face again, as if doing so will help him figure something out. "It does not really matter.”

 _Doesn’t it?_ Hyunjin chooses just to hum and press his lips together in some semblance of a smile rather than ask.

“I ought to change,” Felix murmurs, standing abruptly.

“There’s no need.” Hyunjin narrows his eyes a bit. Felix had changed earlier, when he and Minho had come in from the rain, Hyunjin assumes. “My parents say it’s just us and Changbin’s family, so-”

“Still.” Felix turns his head to Hyunjin, jaw tensing and eyes widening to urge Hyunjin to shut up. “I ought to.”

“Right,” Hyunjin fumbles as Felix leaves, mumbling a “see you” to Minho. “Probably a good idea.” Minho barely has time to hum before Felix is gone and he and Hyunjin are left with the remains of the awkward atmosphere. For a long minute, Minho stares at Felix’s empty chair blankly, looking up only when Hyunjin clears his throat.

“So what happened?” 

“Felix surprised me while we were sparring.” Minho sighs, shaking his head. “I reacted poorly. I do not think I hurt him but…” He drops his eyes. “I did scare him. I should have managed myself better.” 

“Is that all?” Minho’s eyes lift in surprise at how lightly Hyunjin says it. “You apologized, didn’t you?” A nod. “Then I doubt Felix is angry about it.” Though, that means there must be something more to it. Felix wouldn’t act so oddly for no reason. “I see no reason for you to worry. He should be back to his usual self soon.” Hyunjin smiles, but it seems to do little by way of reassurance. Minho still seems distracted, even for the moment he smiles back. 

The room grows dimmer as the sun sinks lower by the minute.

Hyunjin does not try to get anything more out of Minho.

“Will you get my crown for me?” He asks.

“Are you not closer than I?” Minho raises a brow, but is already striding over to Hyunjin’s dressing table. Hyunjin just leans back on his palms and tips his head back a bit, winking at him. But Minho is not looking at him, instead fixated on the crown as he turns it over in his hands. The leaves are blindingly bright as they catch the last rays of light, as though Minho has caught fierce, tiny stars to dance among his fingers.

From where he sits, Hyunjin can only see Minho's profile. Though he can see that Minho's mouth has parted in a small "o," he cannot tell what other expressions worm their way onto his face.

Envy? 

Hyunjin always worries about such a thing. Surely, it wouldn't be. Not when the legends say the Kingdom of Light is rich in gold. 

_Elves should not covet_ , they are taught, _least of all riches and power_. 

Saying so has never stopped anyone. 

"What is it?" Hyunjin asks after Minho does not move for a dangerously long moment. His fingers curl against the sheets unconsciously, nervously, when his guard turns around.

"It is pretty," Minho says lightly. Hyunjin's fingers relax, just slightly, when he can at least see that Minho does not look jealous. Nonetheless, he keeps staring. The sentiment had felt unfinished, oddly unpunctuated by silence. 

As he waits, Minho closes the gap between them. Without thinking much of it, Hyunjin puts out his hand to receive his crown, but the cold shock of metal never meets his skin. Instead, it is placed on his head with surprising care, and Hyunjin tilts his head to look up, startled. 

“I was reminded of how different we are,” Minho finally finishes, eyes fixed on Hyunjin’s hair as he picks at it and tugs it from beneath the crown as if in some kind of artful display. Hyunjin doesn’t deny it, doesn’t ask what Minho means. He knows; Hyunjin is far too old to pretend his life is just like anyone else’s.

“Do you think we would have met if you had never left?" Minho continues his arranging, a hum of consideration in his throat. 

"Perhaps," he concludes. "Perhaps not. I see no point in wondering about the what ifs." His hand stills, the content smile of a cat in the sun curling at his lips as he examines his handiwork. A breeze blows in, fluttering against the curtains and ruffling Minho's hair gently. With it, it brings the unanswered question that had burned at Hyunjin's tongue mere days ago. 

"Why did you leave?" 

Minho shrugs, turns his head towards the balcony and the dark outlines of the trees against the sunset sky. Rich gold outlines his face and shadows his cheek, flashes in the threads of his tunic once more, and for a moment Minho looks as though he's been gilded. The moment breaks when Hyunjin taps his hand, gently, after a long, pensive silence. 

"How could I stay?" He counters, looking back to Hyunjin carefully. Hyunjin furrows his brow. 

It’s not like there’s any way for him to know what Minho means. He opens his mouth to ask, but Minho pokes right at the junction of his creased brows and they smooth out in surprise, words suddenly forgotten. Minho’s face scrunches into a smile. 

“We met now,” he says. “Is that not enough, Prince Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin is hard pressed to disagree. Though he’s curious, it doesn’t really matter why Minho left, he supposes. There’s no doubt in his mind Minho would say the same thing. 

He lets his questions go unspoken.

A hand is extended to him as the sun slips below the horizon. Hyunjin takes it without a moment’s hesitation and Minho pulls him to his feet. 

“Come; dinner awaits.” 

  
  


Without all the guests from yesterday, the dining room feels far, far too large; an empty space that even the quietest of whispers fills too easily. Hyunjin's parents talk easily despite this, discussing the possibilities of new trade agreements and a formal alliance, and ask Minhyun what he thinks of all this and if he has concerns he had not voiced earlier. His brother, Hyunjin realizes, must have spent the day with their parents and Queen Dahye. Momentarily, he wonders if he should have done so as well, rather than sparring Changbin without a second thought about alliances or diplomacy.

"How are you and Prince Changbin getting on?" His father asks, reaching an arm past Minhyun to pick at a piece of fluff on Hyunjin's tunic.

"Well enough, I think." Hyunjin looks down at his distorted reflection on the silver plate. "All we've done is spar, though." It's decidedly even, Hyunjin thinks, but in the beat of silence that follows, he can almost _feel_ the way his father is pinpointing the flicker of doubt in him.

"Friendships are just as important as anything."

"Shouldn't Minhyun try to make friends as well then?" Hyunjin asks lightly, pretending not to see his brother's sour look. "I can't do all the work."

"I do recall you begging for me to let you follow when I used to go on hunts with Jisoo and Seokwoo. And was it not I who let you tag along and watch while Minghao and I sparred? And when Dongmin would take a whole group hunting?"

"All right, but none of them are _important_ -important," Hyunjin counters. "What's Dongmin now? A border guard?"

"Lieutenant of the Guard." Minhyun is quick to correct him, smiling with too many teeth. It isn't an angry look, but it's one Hyunjin knows means he's flying perilously close to irked. "He comes to assemblies, which I suppose you would know if you paid attention."

Hyunjin blinks, affronted.

"You want to talk about ‘important?’ I suppose you've got Felix... and Renjun, was it? The one who wanted to be a scholar?"

"Maybe _you_ should befriend a scholar, does wonders for the mind."

"Boys..." Their mother sighs, but her voice is lost in the petty debate.

"My point is, I've got important friends where it counts. What've you got? An advisor - no offense, Felix -"

"Oh, none taken," Felix says hurriedly, wanting nothing less than to not be involved in this. He thinks he might hear Minho let out a puff of amusement behind them, and when he turns his head a bit to peek behind him, Minho raises his brows at him with a tiny smile, some of the sparkle returned to his eyes. It dims again when Felix doesn't reciprocate, and Minho tilts his head at him. Felix looks away.

"- and a scholar."

"No." Hyunjin puffs out his cheeks at Minhyun. "I've got Seungmin _and_ I've got Changbin now. Princes are better than captains."

"They're not trading cards, for Sun's sake," their father interjects. He too, is utterly ignored.

"They're your age; you have an advantage!"

"All right, grandfather," Hyunjin snorts. "Is 90 years only 'nothing' when it's convenient for you?" Minhyun's mouth opens and closes for a few short moments, and Hyunjin knows he's cornered his brother.

"Brat," is the word Minhyun finally seems to remember how to make.

"Minhyun." The disappointment in their mother's voice makes it sink right to the table, heavy with years of "you know better"s. "Must you two argue here and now? Can't this wait until later? Surely you have outgrown such things." Both of them look at her.

"Are you proposing we schedule an argument?" Minhyun asks slowly, mild disbelief creeping in.

"All right: after dinner. Your room. Name your stakes." Hyunjin runs with it.

"No, no," Minhyun shakes his head. "I'd much prefer tomorrow morning, before we leave. May as well start the day off right."

"Fine. Felix judges?"

"Do not bring me into this."

"Then we settle it with fists, how about-" Felix kicks Hyunjin's foot. "Ow, what was that fo...r." Changbin and the queen finally enter, both retaining yesterday's radiant and decidedly powerful auras even without the resplendent clothes. Jisung trails behind, eyes immediately pinpointing on Minho. Changbin, on the other hand, is looking at Hyunjin with an amused twinkle in his eyes and the trace of a smile.

He's definitely heard Hyunjin and Minhyun's bickering.

Hastily, Felix stands and bows, suddenly incredibly aware of just how out of place he is among such a royal crowd. Behind them, there is no shifting of fabric, no rustling of arrows that would indicate movement on Minho's part. But Felix supposes this shouldn't shock him. The only time he's seen Minho do such a thing is in apology. Still, it's... unusual. Disrespectful even.

If he minds, Changbin says nothing, just waving a hand to Felix so that he can sit, and retaining the friendly look he had worn yesterday.

"I take it you heard all that," Hyunjin says the moment Changbin has taken his own seat.

"Quite clearly," he replies in amusement.

"You'll have to forgive us." Minhyun looks between Changbin and the queen, like he can't decide who to address. "Hyunjin and I usually get along well."

"Oh, no," Changbin shakes his head at Minhyun, grinning, "it's really all right. I've always thought it would be fun to have a sibling."

"You're not missing out much," Hyunjin whispers conspiratorially.

The doors open once more as serving platters are brought in and attention is immediately turned to them. From the corner of his eye, Hyunjin can see Jisung step forward and lean down to whisper something to Changbin, too low in the sudden clatter of dishes and silverware for him to hear. Changbin hums and frowns in thought, turning his head a bit to look behind Hyunjin. Then he shrugs.

"Sure. You really don't need my permission every time."

Food takes a backseat as Hyunjin turns his head to watch Jisung stride purposefully over to Minho and grab his hand, pulling him past the oncoming group of appetizers. Hyunjin's view is blocked by a servant doling out dandelion greens, and he pushes his chair back to stand and see where Minho is being taken, but Changbin and Felix are both grabbing his sleeves to pull him back into his seat.

"Your guard needs a break just as much as we do." It almost feels like Changbin is chiding him, despite the gentle tone.

"I know that," Hyunjin protests. "That's not-" He comes up short for an explanation, and instead closes his mouth and concedes to Changbin's point. "Nevermind."

"Hyunjin." This time it's Felix. Changbin shifts to strike up a conversation with Minhyun. "I think Minho might actually need a break."

"He's getting one." Hyunjin frowns. Felix shakes his head, grabbing several leaves off Hyunjin's plate, knowing that Hyunjin will take forever to finish them.

"Earlier... I don't know what it is, but he seemed so _tired_."

"Bad night?" Their conversation from months ago echoes in Hyunjin's mind. "Is he still up at all hours? You never mentioned it, so I thought that stopped." Felix chews on his lip, guilt in his furrowed brow. "It _did_ stop, didn't it?"

"Not as far as I know," Felix says quietly.

"You said you'd tell me!" Hyunjin hisses. It comes out sharply, enough so to earn him a look from his brother and Changbin. He's not exactly angry, but he's not happy about it either.

"I know. I know. But... I don't know, I just couldn't. Every time I tried, it wouldn't come out. It felt like someone was covering my mouth." Felix spins the tip of his chopstick against his plate, something heavy resting on his expression. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Hyunjin sighs. "I shouldn't be mad. Not at you, anyway." He pokes at some offending greens, eyeing them with resignation as he takes a mouthful. "Is that what's got you so weird about what happened?" Felix blinks at him, cocking his head in confusion. "With Minho," Hyunjin clarifies.

"I guess." They set their chopsticks on their plates as dishes are swept away in preparation for the main course. In the interlude, Hyunjin studies Felix carefully, trying to pick apart what he isn't saying.

"He said he scared you."

"Yeah." Once more, Felix chews at the skin on his lip. "I don't really care about that though."

"Then..." Hyunjin prompts, raising his brows in encouragement.

"I don't know."

"You can tell me."

"I don't _know,"_ Felix says with more frustration. "If I understood what was bothering me about it, don't you think I would?" Bowls of dumpling soup are placed in front of them, and they remain silent until the attendants have gone and everyone has started their meal. "It isn't really about me," he finally continues. "I'm fine, I just can't tell if Minho is." Changbin and Minhyun have fallen silent, and their conversation suddenly feels far too present in the newfound quiet, so neither Felix nor Hyunjin speak for several minutes, instead focusing on their meal.

"You noticed too, did you not?" Felix asks quietly, eyes trained on his spoon.

"Yeah." Hyunjin glances up to the main doors, as if Minho will suddenly walk back through. "I noticed."

They say nothing more on the topic as dinner continues.

Tonight too they conclude dinner floating on a sea of stars. Sipping on a much gentler honey-wine than last night, Changbin enthralls Hyunjin and Felix into a story about a thief turned would-be-assassin who had managed to get into the palace several decades ago. Though the story turns far too amusing to be entirely genuine, the dramatic hushed tones and vivid detail with which Changbin regales them are just enough to make them feel the elements of truth in it. 

"And that," he concludes after describing a thrilling chase scene which had apparently involved no less than half the staff at palace and has Felix and Hyunjin on the edges of their seats, "is how I met my very first bodyguard."

"No!" They both gasp. "That cannot be true. You made that up," Felix accuses. Hyunjin just stares in disbelief and insult that _that_ is what the story had led up to. Changbin laughs, putting up his hands in mock surrender. 

"I'm serious! She came back about a year later wanting to join the guard and after they were convinced she wasn't going to try to hurt me or anything, my parents figured there was no one better for the job." He sighs a bit, an indecipherable look flashing across his face. "My father was more forgiving back in those days. Before the war really began." 

"What happened to her?" Hyunjin asks carefully, unsure if the suddenly more somber attitude is indicative of her fate. 

"Truthfully, I don’t really know. I was so young that I don’t even remember her leaving. I like to think she's still alive and well." Changbin shrugs, twisting the stem of goblet between his fingers. "But so many I knew died that it wouldn't shock me to find out she was one of them. The war took more than anyone ever gained from it." For the first time, Changbin, who has seemed so nonchalant about this all, shows a crack in his armor, a heavy frown pulling at his lips, just for a moment. “I should hope you never go through it.” He looks at the grave looks on Hyunjin and Felix’s faces and waves a hand at them. “Ah, no, I apologize. I did not mean to bring the mood down. Let us speak of merry things. You two must be excited for the festival. I’ve heard that your kingdom’s feasts are unrivalled.”

This does lighten the atmosphere significantly.

“We certainly like to think so.” Hyunjin preens a bit. “We spare no effort when it comes to celebration.”

“I have always wanted to visit,” Changbin says wistfully. 

“Your kingdom does not do the same?” Felix asks, eyes wide and curious.

“We try, but… well, we’ve been busy as you can imagine. The festival has always been an armistice, but our feasts have not been extravagant for as long as I can remember.” There’s a dramatically mournful sigh from Changbin. “You have venison don’t you? Stars above, I cannot even remember the last time I had venison.”

“If you ever visit, I will be sure that you have some.” Hyunjin grins at Changbin. "And we need a rematch. I think I would fight better at home."

"Oh?" Changbin raises a brow. "That sounds like an excuse to me."

"Not at all," Hyunjin scoffs.

"Then when I visit, a rematch it is." Changbin winks.

"Why don't you just settle it now?" Felix snorts. "It would certainly save time."

"Unfortunately, my mother does not condone brawling at dinner. It's rather unseemly, don't you think?"

"I would think it amusing." All three of them nearly jump out of their skin at Jisung's unexpected voice. He and Minho stand among the stars, seemingly appearing out of thin air.

"When did you get here?" Hyunjin blinks at them in shock. Surely he would have noticed Minho come back. "We didn't hear you come in at all." Or, at the very least, he would have heard the doors open.

"You talk loudly," Jisung tells him very matter-of-factly, "and there is more than one way into a room."

"We just arrived," Minho concludes. Something about him is different from earlier, like he has found his steadiness, the sureness Felix and Hyunjin are now realizing he had lost.

"Why do you not settle it now?" Jisung asks, head tilted at them. "The idea is not half bad."

"How do you propose?" Changbin tilts the lip of his goblet towards Hyunjin's parents. "Prince Hyunjin leaves tomorrow morning."

"The night is young." There's an open sort of honesty to Jisung that makes it quite clear he means the suggestion.

"I have quite enjoyed being able to spend my nights asleep for once, thank you very much."

"Then do it tomorrow morning." Jisung shrugs.

"We leave tomorrow morning," Felix repeats. "I don't think the king and queen will allow Prince Hyunjin to stay back just so that he can spar. The festival is important. He and Prince Changbin can settle this anytime, really." There's a brief interlude of silence as Jisung's face screws up in concentration.

"Hyunjin." He points at him very suddenly, eyes wide like a light has gone off in them. "The archery contest."

"What about it?" Hyunjin asks slowly.

"Ah, Jisung, really-" Minho puts a hand on his shoulder, brows furrowed. Jisung turns to look at him, face set as his mind seems made up, studies him, and then turns back.

"Have you practiced?"

"Uh," Hyunjin looks at Felix, then Changbin, who just shrugs, "not as much as I could, I suppose?"

"Jisung." Minho's voice is soft. "You do not have to." A hand waves him off.

"Well, neither has Changbin."

"Hey-"

"Why not level the playing field? You two can practice and settle things." Jisung looks at Felix. "You can join too; I have heard that you intend to compete as well."

Hyunjin and Felix share a look. _This_ is what Minho and Jisung had been talking about during dinner?

"Minho and I will coach." A pleased nod. "It is settled."

"No one has agreed. You cannot just-" Surprisingly, Changbin falls silent when Jisung raises a brow at him. "If you wish to, and your parents agree, I would not mind," he concedes, addressing Hyunjin. "I could use the practice."

"I'll... ask?" Hyunjin glances over to the king and queen, speaking animatedly to Queen Dahye. "Later. Are you all right with it, Felix?"

"If you are." Felix shrugs. Hyunjin fixes him with a look. "Seriously, I don't care much either way."

"Minho?"

Four pairs of eyes are cast on him.

"I would not mind." Though, he certainly seems more excited than not. "Whatever you think is best, Hyunjin."

"Then I will ask."

It is late when Hyunjin finally returns to his room, long after Felix and, he assumes, Changbin have gone to bed. Convincing his parents had not been as hard as he had thought, but he cannot blame them for their doubts and worries, the surprisingly long hours it had taken for him to quell them. In the end, however, with only the promise that he would leave before high-sun and would not be late for the festival - and with Hyunjin's thick layer of assurance that Minho would keep him safe - his parents had given their blessing.

Minho waits outside his door, back straight and head held high, hands behind his back. He gives Hyunjin a small smile in greeting, dips his head only the tiniest bit. Hyunjin returns the greeting with a hum, but stops before he enters the room, instead studying Minho carefully, searching for the tiredness Felix had mentioned.

“Something on my face?” Minho asks in amusement, quirking a brow at Hyunjin. 

“Can we talk?” The smile slips from Minho’s face, head tilting and eyes narrowing like he’s trying to puzzle Hyunjin out.

“I suppose.” He opens the door, holding out a hand to gesture Hyunjin into his dark room. What had once been golden is now silvery in traces of moonlight. “Have I done something wrong?” The door clicks shut behind them.

“No.” Hyunjin shrugs, moving to light a candle. 

“Then…?”

“Can I not just wish to speak to you?”

“But that is not the reason, is it?” Minho is so direct that it seems more a statement than a question. 

“No.” Hyunjin turns to look at Minho now, searching yet again. He doesn’t see what Felix had, sees nothing but mild uncertainty as Minho’s eyes dance around. “I suppose not.” Minho doesn’t move from where he stands near the door, just widens his eyes a little to encourage Hyunjin to continue when they finally make eye contact. “Felix says that you seem tired.”

“Is that all? I look tired?” Minho raises a brow. In the orange glow of the candlelight, he reminds Hyunjin of the warm sunset he had when they’d first met.

“Felix thinks so.” Hyunjin tugs his tunic over his head and balls it up. He throws it at a chair, where it lands in an undignified heap. Minho’s eyes follow it. “But I said you seemed tired, not that you looked it.”

“For clothes so fancy, you certainly do not treat them with much care.”

“They’re just clothes.” Hyunjin shrugs yet again as he sinks onto his bed and sets about unbuttoning his shirt. “I have so many anyway, it isn’t important.” He pauses in his unbuttoning, shoots Minho a look. “And we weren’t talking about clothes; we were talking about you.”

“I am not tired,” Minho tells him, blinking in what appears to be genuine confusion.

“Perhaps tired is the wrong word,” Hyunjin tosses his shirt towards the chair, sighs as it falls short and lands on the floor, “but you must be weary, seeing as you don’t sleep.” Minho crosses the room and picks up the fallen shirt, twisting it in his hands. He stares at the balcony, through the thin curtains and out towards the night sky.

“I am not,” he says again, softer but more insistently. The candlelight casts shadows on his face and flickers in his eyes. Even from here, Hyunjin can catch the faraway look in them. He pushes himself to his feet, strides over to Minho and wraps his arms around him, pulling him into a back hug, made awkward by his quiver. Hyunjin holds fast, despite the arrows in his face. Minho tenses briefly, then relaxes.

Minho is warm, just like always, and Hyunjin wants to drown in the comfort of it. He feels tension of his own bleed out of his shoulders and his chin sinks to Minho’s shoulder. Very suddenly, he understands what Felix means as Minho almost seems to sag beneath the added weight and it’s not clear whether he’s the one supporting Hyunjin or if Hyunjin is the one holding him up. It’s unlike him, usually as steadfast as the sun rising every day.

The longer they stay like this, the more Hyunjin thinks about it, the more he realizes that Minho is not warm like always. Rather than the sun-kissed warmth in the deep summer, he feels like a desperate breeze in autumn; the summer that begs not to be forgotten instead.

“I’ve heard you rarely leave my door at night,” Hyunjin tries a more direct approach, hugs Minho tightly, “and that when you do, you go outside and just watch the sky.”

“Felix told you that too?” Minho asks flatly. 

“Why don’t you sleep, Minho?”

“I cannot.” Minho shrugs. Hyunjin frowns.

“Is something wrong? Do you have nightmares? Insomnia? Felix knows herbs that will help with that.” Minho cranes his neck so he can look at Hyunjin.

“Nothing of the sort,” he says. “Why do you care?” There’s no snark to it, rather a genuine sort of curiosity. Like he doesn't think Hyunjin should, just as he himself doesn’t.

“Well, I care about you,” Hyunjin mumbles and this time the warmth he feels comes from his cheeks and not from Minho. It’s… odd to open up to him, to admit vulnerability. “I worry.” There’s a pause that’s just too long for Hyunjin’s liking. Perhaps Minho does not see him in the same light. Though Hyunjin has long since moved past seeing Minho as a mere guard, he realizes that he really doesn’t know if Minho sees him as anything more than someone he is meant to protect. “Can’t have my guard in anything less than the best condition,” he adds quickly. Stupid.

“Oh.” He swears there’s a flash of disappointment in Minho’s eyes, but it’s gone so quickly he can’t be sure. “Of course.”

“So…?”

“I just cannot.” Minho half folds the shirt in his hands and looks away from Hyunjin as he tosses it to the chair.

“You need to sleep.” Hyunjin’s frown deepens.

“I do n-” Minho catches himself abruptly, shakes his head. “Cannot. I cannot.” Hyunjin sighs, but does not push further. Silence swallows them whole and Hyunjin almost thinks he could fall asleep right here, like this. His eyes begin to slide shut.

“Hyunjin, I… have to talk to you too, actually.” His eyes have never been more open. There’s a sudden gust of wind, billowing through the curtains and blowing out the candles. It suits the sudden chill that runs through Hyunjin. The only light left is the pale white of the moon, turning them both to stone. There’s a hammering in Hyunjin’s chest as his heart leaps into his throat and he can only hope Minho can’t feel it too. His arms loosen.

“Oh?” Hyunjin’s voice pitches with nerves. “What about?” Minho pulls away and the air is cold against Hyunjin’s skin. 

Minho’s head is tilted towards the moon. Though like this Hyunjin can’t see his face, he imagines it looks as Felix had described it based on all the times he’s caught Minho outside. Imagines it looks like it does when he looks up to the bright blue sky of the day and stares at the sun far longer than anyone should be able to. Reverent.

Always reverent.

Minho’s head drops.

“Perhaps I should not,” he murmurs. 

“Minho?”

“Would you be… upset if I left?” Minho begins, careful and methodical with his words. He turns to face Hyunjin. 

“I-” Hyunjin swallows a sudden lump in his throat. He supposes he should have expected this, as Minho is not of this kingdom, but part of him had thought - had hoped - that he would be staying, well, forever. “Well, yeah.”

“Hm.”

Long silence befalls them.

“Are you leaving?”

“Eventually.” Another pause. Minho’s brow is furrowed low. “Nevermind. It really does not matter, the more I think about it.”

“I think it matters.” Hyunjin’s eyebrows knit together. Minho inhales as if he means to say something, but he is silent even as Hyunjin gives him time to collect his words. “Why would you leave?” He asks when it becomes clear Minho has decided to keep his thought to himself. “Are you unhappy here?”

“No.” It rides a wistful exhale. “But home will call to me. And I will have no choice but to return.”

“But you said it yourself,” Hyunjin blurts. “This is your home.” Minho just shakes his head.

“ _Was,_ Hyunjin.” Minho sighs. “The Forest, your kingdom… they have not been my home for a very long time. Longer than they ever were.” If Hyunjin really tries, he can pick out a faint thread of nostalgia, just at the very edge of Minho’s words, but is buried deep within a foreign bitterness. The joy that Minho had exuded at being back a mere few days ago is nowhere to be found. 

“They could be again.”

“They never can be. Jisung has reminded me of who I am.” Minho frowns. “And I do not belong here.”

“You do,” Hyunjin asserts. “You were born here, you lived here. And if that is not enough, if the kingdom is truly your home no longer, then we are. Felix. Me.”

“Hyunjin…” 

“Minho, please,” Hyunjin has to resist the urge to reach out to him, “You belong. Stay here. Stay with us. With me. Just stay.” Minho bites his lip, conflict written out on his face. “Stay.” It’s so quiet, it may very well be no more than a breath. Minho’s expression smoothes out and his eyes soften. Hesitantly, he reaches a hand out and places it on the side of Hyunjin’s face, gently as though Hyunjin is something fragile on the verge of breaking. 

"Perhaps for now it can be enough." His fingers shake ever so slightly, conveying the nerves his face does not. Then, his hand moves to the back of Hyunjin’s head, pressing against the metal crown and bringing his head forward until their foreheads meet with a soft thud. Minho’s eyes drop to the floor, his posture oddly tense. "If this is what you want…" 

"Please." It is as soft as the flap of a butterfly's wing. "Stay with me."

“As you wish, my prince,” Minho whispers. 

  
  



	6. vi. afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _in the distance between us that has grown wider, in the leftover image of you that i cannot erase_ \- monsta x, find you
> 
> _my anchor wasn't reaching anywhere; you were like an island i could never go to_ \- iu, above the time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: blood, near death experiences, non graphic death, brief mentions of fasting

_A baby bird, fallen from its nest. Trembling. Its wings are at odd, uncomfortable angles. It screeches when Felix tries to pick it up, to help it, breathing quick and panicked. He remains crouched in the tall grass, but watches, only watches, unsure of what he can do._

_A baby bird, cupped in the palms of someone else's hands. It titters, but seems otherwise content as a thumb strokes its head gently._

_"It likes you," Felix says plainly. A bright, cheery laugh rings out._

_"I suppose it does."_

_"Why doesn't it fly away?"_

_"It can't."_

_"Broken wings?"_

_"It's too little."_

_"Will you take care of it?"_

_"I'll put it back." Felix tilts his head up to the tree, eyes searching until he finds the nest._

_"How do you know it won't fall out again?" A shrug._

_"I don't."_

_"What if it does?"_

_"Then it does."_

_"What if there's no one to help it?"_

_"Then it's up to the bird, isn't it?"_

_"But that doesn't seem fair."_

_Silence that screams. Felix wonders what isn't said._

_"I think it's stronger than we give it credit for."_

_He's flung back, head cracking against the ground._

_Eyes open against the black_

_Flung forward?_

_“It's like…" Felix stares up at a blisteringly blue sky. He cannot see the other speaker - it's the boy, always the boy - but he knows he is frowning, that he blinks a few times in search of words and his brow creases in frustration when he can't find the right ones. "When you tear a cloth and you can hear - you can_ feel - _the threads pulling apart and snapping." A hand resting on his solar plexus, his soul. Tight fist clutches at the fabric. "I feel it."_

_"What are you talking about?" Felix asks, bemused. They lay in once soft grass, now brittle from the burning sun. The summer air is dead around them, alive only by the screeching of cicadas. In the heat, their limbs have grown heavy and sluggish, and the ground has taken a steadfast hold on them. They've been here, too hot to move, staring at the too bright sky for so long he feels as though they've become one with the earth. The boy almost seems to want to. Though Felix shifts and stretches every so often, he is unmoving beside him._

_"I don't know." A tiny giggle, grass rustling beneath his head as he shakes it. "It's stupid, isn't it?" The frown is gone. Implicitly, Felix knows it has been replaced by an oddly peaceful smile._

_"It's not, I just…" Felix lets out a puff of air. "I don't get you sometimes." Though his mouth has moved, the sound feels miles away, like it has come from the very air and surrounded them._

_The cicadas are overwhelmingly loud._

_"Right." Something in the boy's voice has shifted, dampened with a kind of softness Felix has never been able to figure out the meaning of. "I suppose you wouldn't."_

_Felix never asks what he means._

_Around them, the world becomes louder and louder, the air heavier. Unspeakable pressure sits on Felix's chest and weighs him down. Surely he will be imprinted in the grass, the earth, when he stands. The noise is too much, makes it feel like everything is closing in on him. He can't think, and he can hardly breathe. It's too much, too much._

_"Who are you?"_

_They're plunged into silence, unsettlingly so. Now it's like the world has frozen around them._

_The boy is silent too. Felix can't help but to feel that it is his own fault, that he has deviated from the script and that the boy can only follow his predetermined lines. Then:_

_"I am me," the boy answers, almost unsurely._

_"But who_ are _you?" Felix tries again, more desperately. Another long pause follows._

_"I am me," he repeats, slow and confused. Felix can imagine the furrowed brow, but not the face. Never the face._

_"Your_ name _," Felix stresses. He reaches out beside him, hand searching in the grass to grab the boy's, like this will help him._

_“I’m-” Felix blinks and now firelight illuminates a target full of arrows. “- so stupid.” It's soft, whispered, caught in the boy's throat like it was meant to be a laugh._

_He sounds bone-tired and empty. Head bowed, eyes hidden, hair glued to his forehead with sweat. Felix sees only the purple creeping down the boy's cheek from his eye, the too bitten split lip, the red scrapes on his knuckles._

_They're not supposed to fight like this. The other elflings in their village bump into him like he's invisible, pretend like he doesn't exist unless it is to tell him to his face all the unkind things their parents say at home, but they never fight._

_He insists it doesn't bother him, taking it all with too much determination for a child and spitting it back with brash assuredness._

_But today it must have._

_The light shrinks and shrinks, until it is only Felix and the boy who exist in the darkness._

_His hands tremble as he reaches for another arrow, fingers slick with blood from open blisters and raw skin that he's continued to pull at the bowstring despite. Felix grabs his wrist before he can nock it. A flinch. Pain? Surprise?_

_Felix doesn't even know anymore._

_"I'm so stupid." It comes again, just like before, the same catch in his throat. Tattered and frayed like the edges of his sleeves. "Stupid hope, stupid dream, stupid me." His fingers tighten around the bow, and the red of his knuckles stands out more and more. "And I was the fool who believed in them."_

_The world is torn away from them, but still they stand, suspended in the dark._

_Felix cannot find the words to reassure, to soothe. The elfling does not look to him for an answer - he never does - but in the silence (why hadn't Felix said something? He should have said_ something, _for anything would be better than nothing at all) something in him seems to break and his shoulders sag under an invisible weight._

_“Who are you?” Felix sees the boy’s head lift, but it is impossibly dark and he can make out nothing but the outline of his face._

_“I don’t know.” This time when he reaches for the boy’s hand, he finds it, even in the dark. The fingers are calloused from hours and hours of target practice over the years, but his palm is soft, his skin warm. He’s real, isn’t he? He must be._

_Felix holds his hand tightly so that this time, he cannot disappear. So that Felix does not have to cry for a nameless boy._

_“I don’t know anymore.” It’s woefully sad, a pain Felix can feel in his own heart. Despite everything, the hand slips from his as though it is nothing more than a figment of his imagination and cold fear strikes Felix’s chest as he falls backwards again. This time there is no ground to catch him._

_“Maybe…” The voice is distant and hollow. “Maybe I was never really anyone at all.”_

Felix sits up and gasps for stolen breath, bringing his knees up so he can lean forward and prop his head against them. Like this he waits for his heart to stop hammering against ribs, and for breathing to not feel so demanding to remember. 

He isn't making this up. He _knows_ he isn't. What the boy had said was wrong. 

Even if the line between memory and dream has become too blurred for him to distinguish, he knows that everything holds some truth. If nothing else, it is the boy. 

And so he must be real. 

He was someone.

Wasn't he?

Felix clings to the voice. It stays the same in every dream even as the boy changes. He clings to the feeling of the boy's hand, too vivid for him to have made up. He remembers the tiny nicks and thin scabs on his fingers from mishandling arrows. He remembers ugly bruises on the boy's forearms from times he had forgotten to wear arm-guards. The cream color of his sheets burns into his eyes, blurring into the only thing he can pay attention to.

He remembers a worn out cloak, a name stitched at the bottom corner with dull, dirty thread that had once been bright, just as someone had once cared. What was the _name?_

The thread had been a bright blue-green. The boy had said so, very proudly. His favorite color.

What was the name?

Felix stares like it will sew itself right before his very eyes.

"Feeling okay?"

Felix's head jerks up, nearly jumping out of his skin at the sound of Minho's voice. Minho leans against his doorway, arms folded and face bemused. They stare at each other for a long second in the pale morning light.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people," he says eventually. "Why didn't you knock?"

"I did." Minho looks almost smug. "Several times in fact."

"I didn't hear."

"I noticed. I never thought sheets could be so fascinating."

"Can't you go bully Hyunjin instead?" Felix grumbles. 

"Nope." Minho shakes his head. "No can do. I already woke him up." Felix snorts.

"Yeah? How did you manage that, brave soldier?" 

"I have my ways." A finger taps against his cloak pin. "You would be surprised how effective a bit of cold metal is." 

"I usually just jump on him." Minho laughs.

"Yes, he did mention that in his laundry list of complaints. I think he said he preferred it." At this, Felix rolls his eyes. 

"Where is our prince of beauty sleep then? It isn't every day he's awake before I am; I'm surprised he didn't insist on waking me himself." The last time such a thing had happened, when they had still been elflings, Hyunjin had rubbed it in Felix's face the whole day. As if waking up before high-sun once in a lifetime is something to brag about. 

“He is seeing his family off.”

“Oh.” Felix’s eyes widen. “ _Oh_. I should-”

“There is no need. I am sure he would have woken you up if it was important, but as it is he asked me to let you sleep a while longer.”

“It’s impolite.” Though Felix frowns, he doesn’t make any move to get out of bed.

“They are not your parents.” Minho shrugs. “I doubt they will feel slighted by it.”

“That’s not the point,” Felix mumbles. “They’re still my king and queen. They’re _Hyunjin’s_ parents.” There’s quiet for a moment and Minho’s lips are pressed together in thought.

“Well,” he finally concludes brightly, nodding to himself like it’s all settled, “if you get any trouble just blame it on me.”

“Mm.” Felix wouldn’t. They both know that.

The room is uncomfortably silent. Without any of the early morning chirping Felix is so used to, everything around them feels like it’s balanced on a knife’s edge, teetering from side to side. Even in the depths of winter, the Kingdom Beneath the Sun never seems so utterly dead. Despite the days retaining the warmth of summer, the mornings have begun to turn cold and damp, and the air is heavy and thick. 

At least the sun is the same, Felix thinks as he turns his head towards his balcony. The sun has always been the same, no matter where he is, how old he is. It is the same sun Hyunjin sees, the same sun Minho sees, the same sun the elfling had seen. He’s never really thought about it, but there’s a strange sense of peace that accompanies the realization. Perhaps this is why Minho stares at it with such admiration. 

“Silver piece for your thoughts?”

“What do you see in the sky?”

“Um,” Minho’s voice hitches in a confused amusement, “clouds? The sun?”

“No, I-”

“No? Have I made them up?”

“I _mean_ -” Felix throws a pillow at a grinning Minho, “- why do you like looking at it? Doesn’t it hurt your eyes?”

“Well, then you should have asked that in the first place.” Minho tosses the pillow back and it lands right in Felix’s lap. “It does not, by the way. And I like looking at it because I do. I think it is nice.”

“Oh.”

“I see that is disappointing.”

“No, it’s-” Felix’s mouth snaps shut as he realizes that Minho is still grinning. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?” Minho shrugs. “It’s not disappointing, but… is that really the only reason?”

“Are you _pouting_?” Minho laughs.

“No!” Felix is, but not intentionally. “I just thought you would have a more interesting answer.”

“You think that I am cool?” The mirth in Minho’s face is not lost on Felix. His ears go red. 

“I said interesting,” he retorts. “And no, I don’t. Not when you open your mouth.” 

“Shame,” Minho coos, “and I was just about to tell you the real reason. But I guess if speaking ruins my image…” 

“ _Fine_ ,” Felix grumbles. “I think you’re cool.” Minho beams. “Spit it out then.”

“I find it comforting,” Minho says simply. All Felix can do is stare at him slack jawed. “Not worth your sacrifice?” Felix keeps staring. “So long as I can see the sky, I know that there is light out there somewhere. The sun rises every day. It is there, behind the clouds, behind every dark storm. If not the sun, then the moon. If not the moon, then the stars.” He stops, frowning at the ground. “When I was little, I always felt like there was a film over my eyes. No matter how hard I tried, I could never really see the light,” he admits quietly. Felix’s eyes drop back to his sheets, regret swirling in his chest.

“Sorry for asking,” he says softly. Minho waves a hand.

“If I really did not want to tell you, I would not.”

Felix bites his lip.

“Something else on your mind?” It’s annoyingly perceptive. 

“Have you ever felt guilty for forgetting someone?”

Outside, at long last, a single bird sings. It’s that same sharp whistling from days ago. Minho is silent, brows furrowed, and Felix feels the need to fill the quiet. 

“Well, maybe not forgetting them exactly. I remember them, but I don’t know who they are. I can never make out the face, you know?”

“I know.” In all honesty, Felix had half expected Minho to look at him like he’s crazy. Instead, the look is full of understanding. “All the faces in the memories I have from before I left smear like wet paintings. Though, I suppose that does not really bother me.” Another frown. “All the things I remember I wish I did not, and the things I wish I could slip through my fingers the harder I try to grasp at them.” He sighs, rubbing at his left forearm absently. “Maybe forgetting is for the best. Why do you wish to remember? Would it absolve you of the guilt?”

“I…” Felix blinks, fingers curling in his sheets. “I don’t know.” Would it? Is that what he wants? An ache in his chest grows.

“I want to apologize,” he finds himself whispering. He can't. He knows he can't. But even if only in a dream, it would be enough. 

A gentle poke to his forehead startles him into looking up. Minho gives him one of his bracket smiles, a genuine kindness in his eyes. The ache dissipates.

“I should think that you are already forgiven.” Though it is impossible, though Minho knows nothing of the situation, he says it with such honest conviction that Felix can believe it. “You should get dressed. I told Hyunjin that we would meet them on the range.” He pulls away, turning towards the door.

“Minho,” Felix calls at his back. Minho looks over his shoulder and raises a brow. “Why do you want to remember?” Minho looks back towards the door.

“There is someone I wish to thank.” His hand settles on the door handle. “I will wait outside to escort you. We do not want you getting lost on the way.”

Felix throws another pillow at him as he ducks out of the room.

  
  


“The rules,” Jisung pauses for dramatic effect as he paces in front of Hyunjin, Felix, and Changbin, hands behind his back and a purposefully stern look on his face, “are simple. One:” He points at Hyunjin. “Every elf for himself. Two:” At Felix now. “You get twenty arrows per round. Three:” Lastly, at Changbin. “No cheating. You can take turns or go all at once; it makes no difference to us.” Felix raises his hand. “Question!”

“How many rounds?” Jisung’s face scrunches in thought.

“Minho,” he whirls around to face the targets, calling out with far less bravado than earlier, “how many rounds?”

"I thought you were planning this?" Minho calls back, removing a few stray arrows that had been left by the last archers. 

"Throw me a bone, old man." 

"Oh, I want to throw something all right." Changbin unsuccessfully stifles a laugh as Minho sweeps a pebble off the ground and chucks it with surprising accuracy at Jisung. Jisung ducks and throws up his hands in surrender. 

"Okay, okay!" 

"Just do ten," Minho answers with his usual evenness, wriggling the last arrow free. He twirls it between his fingers deftly, the feathers blurring together until dashes of white and black blend into the brown base.

"Your arrows aren't blue?" Hyunjin asks in surprise, pulling an arrow from the quiver he's been given to inspect the fletching himself.

"No," Changbin practically snorts, brows pinching for a moment as he shoots Hyunjin a look. "We used to use owl feathers, but these days we're lucky to even get pheasants, nevermind jays. Why do you ask?" He suddenly frowns, a sharp bite of defensiveness to his tone. "Are yours?"

"No." At least, not usually. Hyunjin's sure someone in the kingdom uses blue feathers. "But..." He glances at Felix, then Minho, who watches him carefully. "Well, someone shot at us when we were travelling. I guess it wouldn't make sense for them to be arrows from the palace," he mumbles. Changbin is silent, lips pressed together as he draws his first arrow. Though Jisung says nothing and looks from Changbin to the target, his shoulders tense.

"The rebels use blue." Changbin's arrow whistles past and hits the red strip of the target.

"You're at peace now." Hyunjin nocks his first arrow, closing one eye as he lines up the shot. "Why would they shoot at us?" It embeds itself into blue. Felix's shot follows in seconds, into red just like Changbin's.

"We should stay out of it, Hyunjin," he says quietly. "We really don't know the situation here, or anything like it. It isn't our concern."

"It is my concern." Hyunjin frowns. Changbin pointedly keeps his head and eyes forward. "It was my head on the line. I almost died; I think I deserve to know the circumstances."

"But you did not," Jisung deadpans, mouth in a stern line, "so why does it matter now? Minho took care of it."

"Maybe _your_ elves should take care of it." This time his shot buries itself into the white, deeper than the last one. Though Hyunjin keeps practiced evenness to his voice, the rest of him does not get the memo and tension blooms white in his knuckles.

"Relax," Minho mutters, as if oblivious to the conversation. "And loosen your shoulders."

"The actions of a few stray agents does not have anything to do with us," Changbin finally responds. "And that is all they are. They will fade out in due time. A lone battle cannot be won."

"If not for Minho, I could have died." Hyunjin knows Changbin is right, that it isn't his fault, and that his own battle is pointless. It doesn't stop him from holding fast. The silence is deafeningly loud, punctuated only by the tiny creak of Felix's bow as he draws back the string. All there is is a minute shift in Changbin's posture, the slightest turn of his head towards Jisung and a glance in his direction. Jisung exhales sharply through his nose, but his shoulders are no longer quite so stiff.

"I will take care of it myself." If it's directed at Changbin, it certainly does not seem it. Jisung looks only at Hyunjin when he says it. Or maybe past him, towards Felix and Minho. When Hyunjin turns to look at them, he sees that Felix's target is littered with several arrows - unlike the measly two his and Changbin's are - and that Minho is tapping his elbow to fix his posture. Minho seems to sense that he's being looked at, as he diverts his attention in Hyunjin's direction.

"What?" He asks, but it feels like an empty formality more than anything. Obviously he's heard the conversation. His gaze shifts behind Hyunjin, giving a quick nod in response to something, then he looks back to Hyunjin with cheery eyes. "Less talking, more shooting. I think it would be better for us all, no?"

Fine. Hyunjin can take a hint.

Twenty arrows is not a big deal. Minho's training sessions have prepared them for this. Forty is fine. Even sixty isn't terrible. They take their time between rounds, walking the nearly two hundred paces leisurely and stretching their arms and shoulders for long, long minutes. But as the rounds continue, the sun rises and the open expanse of the archery range offers them no shade.

By the halfway point, Felix isn't even sure he can feel his arms. They move without any say on his part. His fingers feel stiff and inept, and based on the embarrassing amount of time Hyunjin and Changbin spend fumbling with and dropping arrows, he's not alone in this. 

"Do not hunch your back."

"Stop twisting your hips."

"Line it up more."

"Your aim will be better if you stop squinting."

"The longer you wait, the shakier your arm is getting. Do not think so hard."

"Lift your elbow."

It's not surprising that what had been mostly reds and blues and the occasional yellow turns to whites and blacks. Color had once felt purposeful; now it feels like a lucky shot. Minho and Jisung's coaching, which had started as the infrequent comments, has become almost constant.

"Our arms are tired," Changbin announces after the seventh round. "Of course our scores are getting worse. You can't really expect us to shoot two hundred arrows without issue."

"Pushing your limit is the only way you will improve. Two hundred will be nothing if you keep practicing," Minho tells him like it's perfectly obvious.

"Yeah?" Changbin almost bristles, indignant as he thrusts his bow out towards Minho like a challenge. "You think you could do it?"

"Of course." Minho doesn't make a single move to take the bow, just blinks at Changbin. "Jisung and I have been doing this since we were elflings. Two hundred is nothing."

"And you'll prove it?"

"Not to you." Minho laughs, but it isn't unkind. "I have nothing to prove to anyone. But I promise it is the truth."

"I should just take your word for it then?"

"My promise is my bond. If mine is not good enough, then ask Jisung." Changbin turns his head expectantly.

"We have shot a lot more than two hundred," Jisung affirms with a shrug. "It gets easier the more you do it." Changbin swings the bow to him. "It would not be fair." Jisung pushes his hand away. "We have to give you three a fighting chance." He winks.

"It will only take longer the more you complain." Minho tilts his head up to the sky, eyeing the blue. "We should leave before high-sun." Both Hyunjin and Felix groan, protests bubbling in their throats. 

"We're eating something before we go," Hyunjin insists. "Some of us _do_ get hungry." 

"I never had breakfast," Felix points out. "I can't travel all day on an empty stomach." 

"All right." Minho throws up his hands in surrender. "You will eat before we leave. But we are leaving by high-sun, so the sooner you finish this-" he points towards the targets, "- the more time you have to eat." 

The motivation chases exhaustion from Felix's arms instantly. He scrambles to notch an arrow. 

The eighth round is marked by a sharp improvement in score, as if Minho had waved food in front of them like a prize and not a given. Even the running commentary ceases, more an occasional nitpick than anything. Other than that, the atmosphere has turned heavy with concentration and, by the time the ninth round begins, competitive spirit. The end is in sight; so close they can quite literally taste it. 

"Who's winning?" Felix asks, arms dropping to hopefully sneak a break in while Minho is focusing on Hyunjin. His eyes sting as sweat drips from his hair. 

"Hm?" Minho arches a brow at him. "Why would I know?" 

"You mean you're not keeping track?" Has this all been for nothing? Were they deluded into a nonexistent competition? 

"Jisung, do you know?" Minho asks innocently. 

"No," Jisung shakes his head, eyes wide and round, "I thought you all would count on your own." 

"So we did this… for nothing." Changbin speaks measuredly, but a vein in his neck practically pops out. 

"You did it for the experience!" Jisung beams at him. "That is not nothing." 

"I see." Changbin's voice says calm. His eyes say anything but. "How amusing." 

"You're not serious, right?" Hyunjin looks between Minho and Jisung, expressions as angelic as newborn babies. "You _are_?" 

"Jisung, I swear on all that is sacred that I'll… I'll…" The threat comes up empty as Changbin flounders for words. 

"Do not hurt yourself." Jisung pats his arm good naturedly. "Of course we are kidding. But we think it is more fun to keep your scores a secret." 

"You think it is fun to antagonize," Changbin groans.

"Perhaps a bit." Jisung shrugs, giving him a lopsided grin. "Minho brings out the worst in me." 

"Hey!" Minho pouts at him. "See if I visit you again. I am a wonderful influence." 

"You think I do not notice you stalling," Jisung continues as though Minho has not spoken. "You cannot blame me when this takes longer than it should." 

"I can blame you for the idea." 

"We can settle the argument later. Unless your arms will still be too tired after lunch. It is unseemly to argue in front of guests." Privately, Felix thinks it's a bit late to consider that, but Changbin just makes some sound of agreement and turns back to his target, so this sort of back and forth must be commonplace for them. 

“Is Changbin winning?” Felix leans close to Minho and whispers as quietly as he can. Minho gives him a noncommittal hum and shrugs. “Hyunjin?” The same answer. “Am I?” He feels that he’s shot well today, even if his performance has dropped in the last few rounds. Minho shrugs again, but Felix swears he winks at him as he pulls away.

“Even if you do not win, you have done well.” Minho ruffles his hair, eyes warm and fond. “You have improved. Both of you.” He pauses, blinking abruptly. “Not that you were ever bad, of course. I do not mean that.”

“It’s fine,” Felix assures. “I know what you meant.” He grins. “So I am winning then?”

“I said nothing,” Minho says as six other eyes land on him, raising his hands placatingly. “You will find out soon enough.” With his foot, he taps at Felix’s leg. “But fix your stance first.”

Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen. Seventeen. Sixteen. Fifteen. 

Changbin gets a bullseye and Hyunjin and Felix celebrate with him, thoughts of competition vanishing momentarily as they find more solidarity in vanquishing their exhaustion.

Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. Ten.

Felix watches in dismay as his arrows struggle to reach the target, burying themselves in the grass instead. Hyunjin faces a similar problem beside him and takes a long break to massage his fingers.

Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five.

Inevitably, nothing can go perfectly. At long last, fletching cuts the skin between Felix’s thumb and forefinger. It isn’t deep, or serious, but it stings like nothing he’s felt before. Minho reaches out to heal him, but Felix just shakes his head and grits his teeth.

Four. Three. Two.

All three of them draw the last arrow together. Their arms and hands shake like leaves in the wind and if Felix never sees an arrow again it will be too soon. A bead of sweat runs down the side of his head and he takes a slow breath as he pulls the bowstring taut, willing his muscles to still. Mind over matter. He can convince himself that he isn’t tired for one last shot. 

All Felix focuses on is the yellow center of the target. He can do it. Surely he can. The air is still; he aims an inch to the left. 

Exhale.

Fletching nips at his cheek as he lets go of the arrow. Unlike in the novels he spent his childhood reading, things do not feel slow at all. The arrow embeds itself in the target before he even drops his arms. Dead center. 

Minho is lifting his arm above his head before Felix even has time to process it. 

“We have our winner!” He shouts, shaking Felix’s arm back and forth in excitement.

“What?” Felix blinks owlishly at Minho, stares at a clapping Changbin and Jisung in surprise. Hyunjin is already leaping forward and pulling him into a crushing hug. “Really?” 

“Really.” Minho smiles brightly at him and releases his hand. “I told you you did well. This is the best you have ever done.”

“Perhaps it is you I should challenge next time, Felix,” Changbin says, slinging his quiver off his back and loosening his arm-guards. 

“I’m not usually that good.” Felix’s fingers fiddle with the straps on his own bracers. “Guess luck was on my side today.”

“Well, naturally.” Minho doesn’t look up from where he has slung an arm around Jisung’s shoulder and is poking him like an annoying brother. “I am a good luck charm, after all.” Felix freezes up very suddenly. He stares at Minho with huge, spooked eyes. “Now then, I believe you all were promised food and that _you_ ,” he tugs Jisung along, still in a headlock, “promised that you would prepare the horses if I won, which I have, so you should get to it. You need not worry about my Soonie - and in all honesty I do not think she would even come if you called for her - but you should watch out with Kkami. He bites when he is-”

“Minho.” Felix grabs him by the arm, words choked as he forces them past his heart, lodged firmly in his throat. Minho releases Jisung as he turns his head, smile falling into concern when he sees Felix’s face. 

_"You're getting better, Yongbokie." A playful voice, a ruffle of Felix's hair. "Minhyuk will be pleased."_

_Shadows fall away from the face and Felix’s vision becomes clear. Everything clicks into place like puzzle pieces._

_"I'm still not as good as you, Minho," Felix quips, swatting Minho's hand away from his head. "Minhyuk's star student himself." Minho laughs good naturedly as he heads towards the tree Felix has been using for target practice, aiming at the knots. It had been Minho's suggestion, one of his own personal ways to train both his aim and his eyes. "Perhaps you are purposefully not helping me to your full ability?" Felix calls after him, following a few paces behind. "Worried I might take your coveted spot as Minhyuk’s Best Young Archer?"_

_"No," Minho answers sincerely as he scales the tree to grab one of the arrows that had strayed, lodging itself a full branch above where Felix had meant it to. "I should be honored if you were the one to take it." The arrow rockets down with such speed that it buries itself in the ground, just in front of Felix's feet. "I can think of no one better, Yongbok." The lowest branch sways under Minho's weight as he maneuvers down to it._

_"I was only jesting," Felix mutters, oddly embarrassed and ears tipped red at the sudden, earnest praise. Minho is unpredictable in his moments of sincerity; springing them on Felix when he least expects it._

_"Besides," Minho is suddenly upside down, his legs looped on the branch with an undying faith that it will hold him. Felix does not know that he would be so trusting, but much like his sincerity, Minho's caution is a fickle thing, coming and going with a rhyme and reason only he seems to understand. He doesn't appear to have heard Felix, a wide grin splitting his face. "With aim like this, I hardly think I need worry."_

_Felix throws an acorn at his head and there’s a quiet, but definite_ CRACK _as it meets its mark._

_“Aim like that?” He challenges, picking up another acorn and tossing it in his palm, wiggling his eyebrows at Minho. Minho blinks at him once, then twice, then swings his body up so he’s sitting on the branch and lets himself fall to the ground, landing with a practiced grace and soft feet, not unlike a cat._

_“Ow,” he whines belatedly, rubbing his forehead and pouting as he walks over to Felix. “That hurt.”_

_“Good,” Felix huffs without any fire, “it was supposed to.” Minho sticks out his tongue at him and Felix returns the gesture. “You’ve got a mark.” He bites back a giggle, poking the almost perfect circle of red that’s slowly growing on Minho’s forehead. Minho throws an arm around Felix’s neck, tightly, but nowhere near tight enough to hurt him._

_“Have I indeed?” His voice goes sickeningly sweet, almost cooing, and he forces Felix to face him. “Well, we can’t have that, can we, Yongbokie? As my best friend, you should have one too.” Felix scrunches up his neck, like a turtle trying to recede into its shell._

_“Minho, nooooo.” He waves his hands in front of his face._

_“Hold still now,” Minho coos at him again. He’s taller and stronger than Felix, so it isn’t hard for him to bypass Felix’s struggling - though Felix is barely trying anyway. He pokes at Felix’s face and arms in an effort to annoy him as much as he can. “Don’t fight it, Yongbokie, you should be so lucky as to match with me. I’m a good luck charm, you know?” It’s an epithet Minho has taken to calling himself, as if in direct defiance of the rest of the village’s view of him. Felix is glad; he has never thought that Minho deserved the bad reputation he has been given. Nonetheless, he makes a face at him._

_“I know you’re stupid.”_

_“Ah, but you’re stupid with me,” Minho teases, “so who’s the really stupid one?” Then Minho flicks him - hard - right in the middle of his forehead, and he releases him with an all too satisfied smile on his face._

_“There,” he says smugly, “now we match.”_

“Minho,” Felix repeats like the name is something precious. For all the moons he has spent saying it, it suddenly feels foreign and fragile, like it will shatter like glass in his mouth without warning. “I…” 

_Minho notches an arrow of his own, face serious; focused. His eyes narrow and for a moment, he stands like a statue. Then there’s a sharp twang as he releases his hold on the arrow, a heavy thud as it embeds itself in the tree. He goes again and releases another, then another, and another in rapid succession. It’s less methodical than Minho usually is, an emphasis on speed. A final arrow flies through the air, missing the same knot Felix had missed and he lets out a noise of surprise._

_“You missed one.” It’s unlike Minho - who practices so much and for so long that the blisters on his fingers never get a chance to heal - to miss by more than a few inches. But Minho doesn’t seem disappointed in the least, instead looking rather pleased with himself. He jogs over to the tree, Felix in tow, and looks up among the branches._

_“Did I really?” Minho’s eyes are bright, almost amused, but there’s no hiding the satisfaction that settles on his face. Now it’s Felix’s turn to blink. Minho’s arrows have lodged themselves perfectly into the holes his had left and Felix’s mouth falls open slightly._

_“At this rate, you’ll be scouted by the palace before you go of your own accord.” Minho, for all his outward confidence, smiles shyly at that, ears burning red._

_“I’m not_ that _good,” he mutters._

_“You are that good,” Felix insists._

_“There are lots of others better than me.” Minho rubs the back of his head. “I should work harder if I want to get to the palace.” His sleeve falls slightly and Felix can see the edges of an ugly bruise. He files it away, making note to pester Minho about it later and remind him of the importance of arm-guards._

_“You work hard,” Felix frowns._

_“But I’m not the best.”_

_“I think you’re the best,” Felix tells him without a moment’s hesitation. Minho stares at him, startled, like he’s trying to tell if Felix is teasing him or not._

_Felix isn’t._

_Still, Minho just shrugs and sets to work removing his arrows. Felix watches him with a thoughtful expression, chewing on his lip._

_“Minho?”_

_“Hm?”_

_“Why do you help me practice? I’m_ really _not that good.” He doesn’t really mean it in a bad way. Felix is middle grade; not the best, but not the worst. He’s content there. Felix likes archery, but he doesn’t_ love _it. Not like Minho does. He doesn’t live and breathe it. If he’s being honest, he really just does it because of Minho._

_“You are good,” Minho frowns at him, sharp and serious. “You shouldn’t say you aren’t. You get better every day.” Felix sighs and shakes his head._

_“You didn’t answer my question.” Minho raises a brow. “Why do you help me? There’s a lot of better things you could do with your time.”_

_“Because we promised,” Minho says simply, cheer returning to his face. “We’re going to make it to the palace someday. Together.” He smiles so brightly and hopefully, a determined ring to his voice, that it almost hurts to look at. Something squeezes in Felix’s chest._

_It must show on his face because Minho’s lips turn down and his eyes widen. Curious. Worried._

_“You remember, don’t you, Yongbokie?”_

“I…” 

He remembers.

He _remembers_.

“Go on ahead,” Minho is saying, his voice distant. His eyes never leave Felix, but the expression is unreadable. Felix can’t even see the others, focus only on Minho. His grip is so tight it’s sure to bruise, but how else can Felix be sure that he’s real? That he won’t fade away again? “We will follow shortly.” This doesn’t make sense. In his mind, Felix knows that. But in his heart it doesn’t matter. Minho’s hand rests on his, but he makes no effort to pry Felix’s fingers from his arm.

“What is it?” He asks, searching Felix’s face for an answer. Felix just throws his arms around Minho in response, nearly knocking both of them over. “Felix, what-”

“It’s you.” Felix tells himself he won’t cry, but it doesn’t stop his voice from getting thick. “I remember. It was you.” They stand like this for a long moment: Minho oddly stiff as Felix hugs him tightly. He pulls his head back to look at Minho, at features so different yet so familiar, but Minho is looking at him without even an ounce of understanding. 

“What are you talking about?” Minho asks with careful confusion. 

“Don’t you remember me?” Felix’s brows pinch. He must; there is no other way Minho would have known his rea; name. 

“I…” Minho blinks, lips pulling into a frown. Concentration is drawn in the lines on his face. “Should I?” He's trying, Felix can tell, he really is, but eventually Minho shakes his head, eyes dropping. "I am sorry. I know you only as I do now." 

"You were my best friend," Felix says softly. "We promised to make it to the palace together one day. You really don't remember?" 

"I am sorry," Minho whispers again. "I did not choose to forget you. If you truly were my best friend, then I was lucky to have had you. I… I would owe you a lot." 

Felix hates it. He _hates_ it. He makes a hard swallow and blinks through stinging tears. 

"Don't say that." Owe him? What could Minho owe him? It feels like a dirty word that Felix doesn't deserve. He holds Minho's head gently and brings their foreheads together. "I'm the one who should be sorry." 

_“Yongbokie, you should come exploring with me!” Minho throws himself at Felix and wraps his arms around his shoulders, sending the two of them tumbling to the ground._

_“Minho, this is a new shirt,” Felix whines, wriggling out of his friend’s grasp. “My mother told me not to get it dirty.” He eyes a fresh grass stain on the level and glares at Minho, only half jokingly. “Besides, you know I’m not allowed.”_

_“Live a little.” Minho throws his arms behind his head, stares up at the bright blue sky with contentment. “You follow your parents rules too much.”_

_“They mean well, you know that.” Felix frowns at Minho, receiving only a sigh in response._

_“I know, but you should have fun once in a while.”_

_“I have fun.”_

_“Non-parent approved fun. Like exploring.”_

_“The woods are_ dangerous _,” Felix kicks lightly at Minho. “We aren’t supposed to go past the village borders alone until we’re older. That’s not just my parents’ rules.”_

_“They’re really not that dangerous,” Minho huffs. “And I wouldn’t let anything happen to you anyway. I’ll protect you.”_

_“My parents already think you’re a bad influence on me,” Felix tells him. He doesn’t need to see Minho’s face to know he’s rolling his eyes. “They’d kill you if they found out we went into the woods.”_

_“Only_ if _they found out.”_

_“Minho, I’m a terrible liar. And my mother has some sort of sixth sense.”_

_“Pleaseeeeee?” Minho rolls over and pouts at Felix. “It’s not that fun going alone.” Something gnaws at Felix’s stomach._

_“Sorry,” Felix shrugs. “I’m not risking it.”_

_“Boring,” Minho humphs, rolling away from Felix until his back is to him. More gnawing. A knot forms._

_“You shouldn’t go,” Felix finds himself saying. “It isn’t safe, Minho. Especially not if you go alone.”_

_“It’s fine, Yongbokie,” Minho sighs. “I’ve done it plenty of times and I haven’t so much as twisted an ankle. You worry too much.”_

_“I’ve got a bad feeling.”_

_“Are you sure that isn’t just your breakfast?”_

_“Minho, I’m serious.” Minho rolls back over, studies Felix in earnest. The fading bruise on his cheek stands out more today.“Please don’t go.” Minho is quiet, just for a moment, before his face lights up and his serious expression is gone. He flicks Felix’s forehead lightly._

_“I’ll be fine. I know how to take care of myself.” The knot in Felix’s stomach tightens. "I promise."_

_Felix doesn’t stop him._

_But Minho doesn't return the next day. Nor the day after. Nor the day after that. He misses their archery lessons, something he hasn't done even when he's sick, and when Felix goes to the house he's staying at, the elf tells him she hasn't seen Minho since Felix has._

_The knot tightens again._

_"He's probably just run away," his mother says nonchalantly when he tells her he's worried. She rubs his arm soothingly, but Felix can tell that she doesn’t really think much of this. "That's the sort of elf he is." Felix frowns at this, frowns at every whisper he hears like this. Minho wouldn't run away. He isn't as flighty as everyone thinks he is. And he’d told Felix that he didn’t want to do that anymore._

_He wouldn't run away._

_At least not without telling Felix._

_And Minho had promised. He's never broken one in all the time Felix has known him. Minho wouldn't run away, wouldn't just leave Felix behind clueless and sick with worry. Wouldn't leave him behind at all._

_There are still searches despite this. Minho is still just an elfling, after all. Felix still has hope, feels it bubbling up in his chest each time a party returns, only to have reality come crashing back down when Minho is nowhere to be found with them._

_Then it gets worse._

_They've found something, but no one will say what. Minhyuk's face is clouded, his teaching half hearted at best. He was the one that had found it, one of the few elves in their village to actually seem to care about Minho's disappearance. Felix almost doesn't want to know because it can't be anything good, it just can't be. Not if the atmosphere is so grim. But he has to know. Deserves to know. If it's about Minho, he needs to._

_"Minhyuk?" Felix approaches carefully after a lesson, fidgeting with an arrow in his hand._

_"Oh. Yongbok." Something flashes across Minhyuk's face. "Is something wrong?"_

_"Is there any news?" He knows there is. "About Minho, I mean."_

_"Yongbok, I-"_

_"They said you found something," Felix practically pleads. Minhyuk looks torn. "Please, Minhyuk. I… I need to know."_

_"Minho is..."_

_Minho is..._

_Felix’s blood runs cold._

"Why would you be sorry?" Minho's voice is soft and earnest.

"You were missing." Felix can feel his throat tighten and the words wobble as they leave his mouth.

"And now I am not." The corners of Minho's mouth lift, just a little. "That must be worth something."

"Minho, they said..." Felix swallows hard and pulls his head back, hands still holding Minho's head, "they said that you had died." There's a shift in expression - subtle, but there - like something has caught in Minho's smile.

"Well, obviously I did not." The smile doesn't reach his eyes this time, settling far too heavily in his cheeks, and there is definite care in these words. "Else I would not be here."

"I should have gone with you," Felix whispers. "Then you wouldn't-"

"No." It's halting and Minho's eyes widen very suddenly. "No." He shakes his head almost frantically. "Yongbokie, no." Minho freezes aside from sharp breaths, like he's just caught up with his own realization. Then he just _stares_ at Felix with too much for Felix to parse through or understand.

He figures it's much like his own feelings of _oh._

"I am glad you did not come with me," is all he finally says. A hand gently pushes some of Felix's hair off his forehead. "Do not feel guilty for things that could never be your fault."

"I forgot you."

"And I you. It has been a long time, Felix. There is nothing to be guilty about. Not when it comes to me."

"Minho." Felix's touch is delicate but insistent, eyes desperate as he searches Minho's face like he'll find answers. "What happened to you?"

The smile falls into something deliberately neutral. Guarded. Something is locked behind Minho's teeth and Felix lost the key decades ago.

"I ran away." Simple, final. The air in Felix's lungs is heavy. That can't be true. It can't. It doesn't make sense.

"I don't believe you." Minho removes Felix's hands from his head, a suddenly cold, un-Minho-like look in his eyes.

"What would you know?" It's a challenge; Felix sees it written in his posture.

"You wouldn't have done that to me," Felix tells him quietly. Minho backs down, a soft sort of sadness dulling his hard gaze.

"I was selfish, Felix." He looks past Felix towards the forest. "I could not bear it. I gave up and ran away. There is nothing more to it." A hand threads through the hair on the back of Felix's head and this time when Minho smiles, it is as real as ever. "Thank you for being my friend. I am sorry I could not stay with you." His hand drops and Minho turns towards the palace. "You should eat; we will be leaving soon.” There’s a beat of silence and Minho presses his thumbnail against his forefinger. “I will see how Jisung is getting on."

He leaves Felix alone on the range, watching Minho's receding back.

"Yeah," Felix murmurs to no one. What was, what could have been. "I'm sorry too."

  
  


The day is marked by a pervasive silence, even as the quiet of the forest begs for conversation. It does nothing to help distract Felix from the muddled feelings in his chest, nor to abate them. They have to talk, him and Minho, but Minho seems entirely content to act like nothing has changed.

Hasn't it?

Now that Felix knows that it was Minho, bits and pieces of childhood bleed into everything and he can't stop realizing. Though his hair is lighter and his features more defined, there's still a kind of sparkle in his eyes, still a resolute brightness in the way Felix sees him. The face he makes when he's thinking, the way he prefers to use his left hand, the way he pokes at Hyunjin and Felix's foreheads... mannerisms from youth and now blend together the more Felix thinks about them, and he only grows more upset with himself that he hadn't realized it sooner.

He can't leave things as they are, but he can't bring himself to say anything while Hyunjin is around. He'd asked earlier, but Felix had only given him a vague brush off that he doubts Hyunjin had bought, but that he had accepted. If Felix says anything now though, Hyunjin will hear everything. It isn't right to tell him yet; not until Felix himself knows what to make of it all.

So there is little talk. Perhaps it is for there better; the same quiet that makes the silence almost awkward makes noise seem dangerous. The attempt on Hyunjin's life is far from forgotten, hanging over them in the canopy.

They travel without breaks long into the night, guided by the white of the moonlight. It puts Felix and Hyunjin on edge to still be stuck among the thick trees, clearly far from their own border, especially at night.

"Minho," Hyunjin says when the gentle bubbling of a stream can be heard nearby, "let's stop for the night."

Minho turns his head, face cut in silver. "If we stop now, tomorrow we must make extra haste. Do you really wish to?"

"You may not need rest, but some of us-" Hyunjin gestures between himself, Felix, and the horses, “- do.” The forest goes dark as clouds blow over the moon and Minho tilts his head up to look at the now black sky.

"Fine," he sighs, "we can stop. But we leave by first light." He clicks his tongue softly at Soonie and steers her off the trail they've been following. Soonie picks her feet up carefully, moving deliberately through the underbrush, and Minho appears to be trusting her entirely to lead the way. Felix and Hyunjin follow suit with their own horses.

Soonie stops what feels like barely a stone's throw away from the path, resolute and firm even when Minho taps her sides gently in encouragement. The stream Hyunjin had heard is nearby, sparkling with slivers of moon that peek through the clouds, and Soonie stands in what can barely even be called a clearing.

"It would appear that we will rest here for the night." Minho slides off Soonie's back, scratching behind her ears and removing his reins. She shakes her mane and his hand falls to pat her neck a few times before she walks into the nearby forest. Hyunjin and Felix, on the other hand, take their horses to the stream first so that they can drink, then dismount.

"No fire?" Felix asks.

"Not unless you want to call attention to us." Minho faces the trees, bow in his hands and an arrow loosely held between his fingers, ready for an unseen enemy. It's far from a relaxing sight.

"It's... kind of hard to see," Hyunjin admits.

"Well, you will be asleep, will you not?" There's a huff. "You hardly need to see for that. The moon will probably come back out anyway."

"Nights are cold."

"Make it yourself if you want one so bad," Minho concedes almost testily. "But do not say that I did not warn you of the consequence." He remains just as he is, so still that the only sign he isn't a statue is the occasional, involuntary twitch of his fingers. Hyunjin delegates Felix to collecting kindling while he collects twigs and small sticks. They stay near Minho, not really wanting to dare venturing past their tiny clearing. Despite their decision to make a fire, his warning is ever present in the back of the heads.

The final product is small, warm only within a foot of the flames, but it's better than nothing.

"This is a bad idea," Minho reaffirms his earlier sentiment, jaw tense and eyes narrowed at the dark forest. "For someone who almost died, you certainly are not acting like it, Hyunjin."

"I have faith in you," Hyunjin responds, irritation cutting his words as he unclasps the buckles on his sleepmat. "Besides, it's tiny. I don't think _I_ would be able to see it if I were not nearby." Minho turns his head and practically glares at Hyunjin, who shrinks under the surprising force of it.

"You acting like an idiot does not make my job easier." Similar force comes from the bite of his words. They're unusually sharp and Minho uncharacteristically angry. Felix clears his throat loudly, shaking his head at Hyunjin, who has already opened his mouth to retort. Instead, his lips press together into a frown and he takes a deep breath before standing and walking over to Minho. Hyunjin's hand is light on his shoulder.

"Jisung already said he'd take care of the rebels, Minho. I don't want to spend my night afraid. I know it's your job to worry, but it's just a fire.” Minho shrugs his hand off and Hyunjin exhales loudly. “All right. Stand like this all night, if you so choose.” He stalks back to his sleepmat and sits down hard, folding his arms like a petulant child, which earns a bitten back snort from Felix, despite the tension in the air. Minho mutters something under his breath, too quiet for them to hear but rather unkind based on the accompanying facial expression. Stand he does, with nearly as much stubbornness as Hyunjin sits and stares.

“Go to sleep, Hyunjin,” Felix sighs, laying down and folding his arm under his head. “Glaring’s not going to do any good.”

“Who’s glaring? I’m not glaring. I just think that-”

“Sun above, be quiet.” Felix closes his eyes and rolls over when Minho says this. He’s not interested in mediating this argument, not when he has his own things to think through. Not to mention, the tension in the air has escalated too much for what this is about. 

“What did you just say to me?” Hyunjin sputters, and Felix can picture the wide eyed indignation on his face. But Hyunjin sounds just as confused as annoyed. “I’m not even-”

“For once in your life,” Minho’s voice is low and frighteningly tempered, but he speaks with urgency that sends prickles down the back of Felix’s neck, “shut up.”

A moment hangs over them, so still and quiet that Felix dares not even breathe. 

Hyunjin’s sheets rustle ever so slightly as he moves.

But it’s not Hyunjin who breaks the silence.

Something whistles just overhead and embeds itself in a tree with a loud, heavy _thunk_. Felix’s eyes fly open and he sits up with speed he didn’t think possible as the horses scream in surprise and fear, the sound chilling him right to the bone. His head turns toward Hyunjin, standing there, frozen, eyes as large as dinner plates as he looks towards the forest.

“Hyunjin!” Suddenly Minho is there, reaching out to push Hyunjin away. “Move!”

This time, the scream is Hyunjin’s. 

It’s a sound so foreign and pained that Felix’s heart practically stops in his chest. He dives forward without thinking, arms outstretched to catch Hyunjin as he falls. How he keeps himself from screaming is a miracle in itself, but all he feels is numbness and cotton in his chest, in his mouth, in his head. Something warm and wet drips onto his hand, and time really does stop as Felix tilts his head up. A drop of blood hits his forehead and runs down his nose, following the curve of his cheek. Felix forgets how to speak. He forgets how to think. He forgets how to breathe.

An arrow has buried itself in Minho, has broken through bone and torn through muscle, gone right through his back and sticks out of his chest. In the firelight, Felix can see darkness as it seeps into Minho’s tunic, can see the way the blood shines on the arrowhead. Minho is still, far too still, standing almost precariously, like the slightest breath would send him toppling to the ground. Felix waits for him to, a wail already tight in his throat as he prepares to lose Minho all over again. 

The arrow has pierced his heart, and no matter how good of a healer Felix is, Minho was dead the moment he pushed Hyunjin out of the way.

Shaking, he lifts his eyes to Minho’s face, as if it will somehow hurt less to see dead, empty eyes than to see the wound. Another drop of blood hits him and he steels himself for the final fall, even putting out an arm so that he might catch Minho. 

But Minho does not fall, and when Felix finally catches sight of his face, it is alive with a kind of cold fire unlike anything he’s ever seen before. Time returns as he pulls an arrow from his quiver and whirls around, shooting up into the surrounding darkness without a moment to assess. Felix thinks he makes out a gasp of pain but he barely has time to process it before Minho is shifting his stance, more fully blocking Hyunjin and Felix. He draws two arrows and turns his bow horizontally as two figures emerge from the trees. Like this, Felix sees the rest of the arrow sticking out of his shoulder, surrounded by an equally large patch of blood as the front. Even if Minho moves like nothing is wrong, Felix can see the way his shoulder muscles spasm when his back tenses.

Minho’s arrows catch the elves in their throats and they fall instantly. Felix feels bile rise and tries to avert his eyes, but they feel glued to the scene. When another arrow flies towards them and Minho unsheathes his sword to deflect it, Felix catches sight of his pale, scared face in the metal.

“Don’t kill them,” he whispers, barely audibly. As Minho throws the sword down, for a moment Felix thinks he might have listened. 

“Take it,” he says sternly. Then Minho steps forward, just as an elf breaks the treeline. Felix grabs the sword with trembling hands, should he need to protect himself, and nearly drops it from how hot the hilt is. Instead, he grips it tighter, holds it in front of himself and Hyunjin like a shield. 

Minho grabs the approaching elf’s wrist, twisting it until she drops the knife clutched in her hand. In retaliation there’s a solid kick to his chest, sending Minho back a step, but his hold is firm and he pulls the elf with him. She throws her weight back, sudden panic on her face as she claws at his hand. Minho just pulls her forward again, spinning her towards him and trapping her in his bow. He presses the wood against her windpipe hard enough to hurt and present the very real threat of death.

“Who sent you?” She elbows him in the stomach and shakes her head fiercely, one hand coming up to fight with the bow. “Tell me!” There’s a sudden flash of silver as the elf pulls out a second knife and plunges it into Minho’s thigh. He only presses the bow harder. “Tell me!”

“No,” she chokes out. “You… can’t… ma-” 

Minho’s head snaps towards Felix and Hyunjin very suddenly, eyes wide as his eyes dart between them and something behind them. The air is heavy around them, like a huge invisible presence. Felix turns his head as well, just in time to see two swords being raised. His arms move of their own accord, but he knows he can’t stop them both. Even if it’s futile, he has to try. For himself. For Hyunjin.

“Close your eyes, Felix!” Minho shouts. The heavy air turns hot, as though the fire burns stronger, and Felix can feel sweat beading his forehead. “Do it now!” It’s the most command Felix has ever heard from Minho. If he’s going to die, at least Minho wants to spare him from seeing it happen.

Felix squeezes his eyes shut and waits for a blow that never comes. Rather than cold steel, he feels only heat - burning, burning, burning - and past the dark of his eyelids, there’s a sudden explosion of brightness. Tiny sparks pop and dance across his vision for what feels like forever as Felix kneels there, Hyunjin’s head in his lap, fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of Minho’s sword like it’s some kind of lifeline. Slowly, the heat in the clearing seems to settle and Felix hears someone very much alive hit the ground.

“Who sent you?” Hesitantly, Felix opens one eye, just a sliver. The elf Minho had been holding earlier lays on the ground, bloodshot eyes staring vacantly ahead and blood trickling from her mouth. At the very edge of his sight, there’s an outstretched hand and a fire dancing in the reflection of a sword. Somewhere in the middle, there’s one last elf, laying flat on his back with Minho’s foot pressing on his chest and an arrow pointed right at his head. He stares at Minho with fear Felix has never seen in his life.

“You’re… you’re…”

“I asked you a question.” This is no Minho Felix knows. Ice drips from words far too dark to have come from his mouth. 

“No one sent us,” the elf stutters weakly.

“Do not lie to me!” Minho pulls the arrow back farther and the elf shields his face with his hands. “Who gave you the arrows?”

“I don’t know!” The elf cries. “I don’t _know!_ ”

“Then you are of no use to me.” Minho takes pause, a string of fearful begging filling the air around them. “Felix,” he says, voice softer now, without turning around, “look away.” Felix wants to protest, to ask Minho to leave the elf alive, but he finds that the words don’t come. So instead he turns his head and shuts his eyes, and pretends the sound of the arrow being released does not make his stomach roll. A shadow falls over him.

“You can open them,” Minho tells him softly. The fire is gone from his eyes now, the ice from his voice. He squints just a little. “I am sorry you had to see.” Hesitantly, one of his hands rests on Felix’s head. Like when they had first met, it is burning to the touch, perhaps even moreso, and steam rises from Minho's skin. “You are shaking,” Minho observes.

“It’s, um, a lot to take it,” Felix laughs thinly. He doubts he’ll forget tonight anytime soon. “But we’re alive, I guess… that’s what counts, right?” Warmth fills his head, turns his thoughts slow and honey like. Minho’s presence has returned to calming.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m not hurt.” Felix places the sword on the grass. Unlike Hyunjin’s sword, carved with leaves and, this one has only a single sun and moon, carved as a single entity like it is drawn in murals depicting the Kingdom of Light.

“But will you be all right?” Minho asks carefully.

“I…” Felix makes a hard swallow and digs his nails into his palm as he looks up. Rather than be faced with the dead eyes of an elf, he tries to focus on Minho. “I will.” He nods jerkily. “Maybe not right now, but eventually, I will.”

“Is Hyunjin hurt?” 

“No.” As still as Hyunjin is, his chest rises and falls peacefully. Gently, Felix combs his fingers through his hair. “He’s just passed out. He’s not good with blood. And seeing you…” Felix freezes, eyes wide as he stares at the arrow in Minho’s chest, the knife still in his thigh. “You’re not dead.” His voice drops very suddenly. It makes no sense. Minho can’t be alive, not with how he’d been hit.

Just this once, Felix will believe in miracles.

“No.” Minho grimaces a bit as his eyes fall to his leg and he removes the knife, hand flat over the wound immediately to heal it. He genuinely winces at this, and pinches his brow in confusion. “Would you prefer if I was?” Beneath the odd strain in his voice, it’s clearly meant to be funny, but Felix can only frown.

“Don’t joke about that.” Another time, another place, perhaps he would play along. But not now, and certainly not with Minho. Slowly, so as not to disturb him, Felix moves Hyunjin’s head from his lap and lays him down. He stands on surprisingly shaky legs, catching himself on Minho’s arm. Minho steps back immediately, even more confused than before. His hand comes up from his leg to clutch at his shoulder and he looks at Felix like a wounded deer, face tight. He’s never worn such an expression before.

“It… hurts.” It’s breathy and spiked with bewilderment, just as much a question as a statement. Minho blinks a few times in rapid succession. 

“Of course it hurts,” Felix tells him with a funny look. “It’s a serious injury. You should be-” He stops himself.

“Dead?” Minho finishes. Then, more to himself than to Felix, “It should not hurt at all.” 

“Let me heal you.”

“There is no need.” Gritting his teeth, Minho snaps off the arrowhead. He turns it over his hand, inspecting it (it's barbed, unlike any Felix has ever seen from any kingdom), before tossing it to the ground with a sharp exhale. “I can heal myself.”

“I want to do something, Minho,” Felix mumbles. “I can’t feel useless.” There’s a breath of silence between them.

“My shoulder will be hard for me to do,” Minho concedes. “Help me with it.” They sit in unspoken agreement, with Minho’s back to Felix. 

“Can I take off your quiver?” Felix asks.

“Mm.” He moves it gingerly, just as carefully as he would treat Minho, and works it over Minho’s head and other arm. It’s set on the ground just beside Minho’s sword. Minho sets his bow down on top of them, but still keeps it easily within reach.

“How do you want to do this?” This isn’t the first arrow wound Felix has seen in his life. When he’d helped out Chan and Naeun, there had been a fair share of archery injuries. But those had been accidents, and had never been anything this severe. 

“Pull it out, and we will go from there.”

“Just… pull it out?”

“Well, do you think I want an arrow in my chest for the rest of time?” Minho asks dryly. “Pull it out, if that is not too much to stomach.”

“It’s not…” Felix is hesitant to even touch the arrow. “It’s going to hurt.”

Minho huffs. “I realize that. I can handle it.”

“A lot,” Felix warns.

“Felix,” Minho almost snaps. It lacks the bite, but the sharpness is there. Then he sighs. “Just do it.” 

So Felix does. He does his best to be slow and careful, not wanting to do any more damage than has already been done. Bracing one hand on Minho’s back, he can feel his muscles tense beneath it, can see him start to sweat in the cool night air. Even through the shirt, his skin burns. 

“Sorry.” Felix winces as Minho exhales sharply through his nose and drops his head, twisting it to the side. His eyes are tightly shut.

“No, it is fine,” Minho grits out. His teeth are clenched so tightly that Felix feels the ache in his own jaw. Still, he holds himself together surprisingly well. Elves have screamed for lesser injuries than this before, and Felix knows he himself would be in agony. 

After what feels like forever - and must feel even longer to Minho - the arrow finally comes free. There’s an immediate breath of relief from Minho and an inhale of panic from Felix. He’d expected blood, but it surprises him nonetheless. When Felix presses his free hand to it, to try to heal the skin, he feels nothing but the fabric of the shirt soaking into it. The chill in his fingers goes nowhere.

“Minho?” His eyes are closed, a hand resting over his heart and a calm look over his face. “I might have more luck if the skin is exposed.” At this, Minho’s eyes open a bit and he chews his lip for a moment.

“All right.” He unbuttons the first few buttons of his tunic and undershirt and pulls down at the collar. It exposes only the top of his shoulder, too high to help much. Felix tells him such and Minho looks stuck, staring straight ahead with such intensity he seems to be trying to burn a hole in the ground with nothing but his eyes.

“Just take the whole sleeve off,” Felix suggests. “You can leave the right side clothed.”

“I cannot.”

“If you’re embarrassed or something, don’t be. I’ve seen Hyunjin shirtless plenty of times.”

“It is not that.” Minho shakes his head lightly, an entire turmoil playing out on his face. 

“Then what?”

“I will just heal myself.” Felix grabs the cloth as Minho goes to pull it up. 

“Minho, why?”

“It does not matter.”

“Let me do this for you.”

“I said it does not matter.” 

“Minho!” Felix shocks both of them when he snaps. “The more we argue, the more blood you lose. I don’t care what you’re hiding, just let me help you.”

“You will care,” Minho murmurs. “ _Hyunjin_ will care.” He looks at Felix with pleading eyes. They’re red and watery, but that can’t be from pain. “You cannot tell him. Promise me.”

“Tell him what?”

“Promise. Me.” There is no room for argument, so Felix nods slowly.

“I promise.” Even if he doesn’t understand why, it’s clear Minho won’t cooperate until he does. Minho bows his head again, refusing to make eye contact as he fiddles with the buttons of his clothes, undoes his arm-guard, and finally pulls his arm through his sleeve and hikes his shirt and tunic up around his neck to expose his back.

Oh.

Rather than the hole in Minho’s shoulder, it is the now bleeding sun surrounding it that causes Felix to gasp. Gently, his fingers brush over the raised skin, and his eyes travel to four arrows, one in each cardinal direction, down the length of his spine. Like the sun, they’ve clearly been burned into the skin. It conjures memories from decades ago, of Hyunjin explaining and retelling stories that both of them had heard hundreds of times, of him telling Felix how cool he’ll look with a sun on his shoulder.

 _“May you never forget the light inside of you,”_ Hyunjin would say with deathly seriousness as he’d place a hand on Felix’s shoulder and pretend to mark him so that they would be true brothers in arms.

“You’re… Blessed?” It’s a question, realization, and statement all rolled into one. Even in his confusion, Felix pushes his focus past the sun and flattens his hand against Minho’s shoulder, making a face at the feeling of warm blood. Slowly, the cold in his fingers starts to shift and bleed away, worming its way into the muscle he’s trying to heal. 

“I am.”

“But you told Hyunjin-”

“I told Hyunjin a lot of things,” Minho sighs.

“You lied.” Felix’s magic moves lethargically, like it’s reluctant to do its job. He pushes at it more, directs his effort towards it so that he doesn’t have to think about the myriad of other emotions in his head. 

“I had to.” Minho laughs humorlessly. “Would you have believed me if I had not?”

“Had to?” Felix grits his teeth. “Hyunjin would have believed you. You’re everything he ever wanted to be.”

“Legends are only pieces of truth.” Finally, Felix feels progress beneath his hand. “If he knew, then he would realize that reality is not so pretty.”

“And what is that reality?” Minho is silent for a long time, mouth pressed into a line. “That you are nothing more than a runaway who joined a group that isn’t even meant to be real? That you don’t have to be anything special to be Blessed?” Miniscule hurt appears as Minho tightens his jaw, and Felix’s tongue stings with regret almost instantly.

“Do not tell him, Felix.” It’s muted and hangs heavy in the air, aches with something sad. “I am sorry I lied, but who I am, who I was… it would be for the best if you would forget them both.”

“I don’t want to forget.” Past the muscle, Felix reaches for bone now. “I didn’t mean it, you know?” Minho shrugs his free shoulder.

“I would not begrudge you if you did.” He speaks with old acceptance, like none of his childhood determination remains. 

“I always thought you were special,” Felix says softly. 

“Yeah?” Minho’s voice is equally as soft, a smile lifting at the edge. “I suppose someone had to.” Silence befalls them, interrupted only by the crackle of the dimming fire, as Felix struggles to heal Minho’s shoulder blade.

“You’ve changed,” he finally says, heart heavy as he admits it. If Minho’s body had fought him before, it’s outright rejecting his magic now. Something he can describe only as white fire rebuffs it like a snake, striking at every attempt Felix makes to mend the bone.

“I would certainly hope so.” A sharp wind blows through his hair and shakes the leaves in the trees, sending a weak, stray few flying towards them. The fire wobbles. 

_Was it really for the better?_

“The elflings we were should not be the adults we are. You are different too, are you not?”

“I guess,” Felix sighs and pulls his hand away from Minho’s back, giving up on the bone. Whatever is pushing back at him is too strong for him to bypass, and the effort that healing the muscles and skin alone has exhausted Felix beyond anything he’s ever healed before. He steps back from the subject at hand as well, not sure he’s really ready to face facts in their entirety yet. Even if he can admit that Minho is not the elf he used to be, deep down, he doesn’t want to accept it.

“I can’t heal the bone.” He frowns. “I’m not sure why, but I just can’t.”

“You have done more than enough.” When Minho turns his head to give him a smile, his eyes are shut. Felix starts at the sight. “It will heal.”

“Won’t it bother you?”

“Not so much that I cannot handle it.” Minho rotates his arm and moves it side to side gingerly. “It feels leaps and bounds better than it did before.” He reaches for his other arm and unties his headband from his bicep, placing it over his eyes instead.

“What are you-”

“It is just for a few days.” His fingers are deft as they tie the cloth. It obviously isn’t the first time he’s done it. “Until my eyes adjust again.”

Adjust to _what_?

Felix means to ask, but something catches his eye before he can. As Minho’s arms fall, he grabs his left wrist, twisting it to expose the underside of his forearm more clearly. Reflexively, Minho tries to pull away, but Felix holds fast and so he gives up without much of a fight as Felix studies it, brow furrowed low.

“What is this?” He knows about the Blessed, knows about the arrows and the sun burned into their back. But this is different; a scar no larger than a circle made by his thumb and forefinger. It looks like a smaller version of the sun on Minho’s shoulder, but within it is what looks to be an intricate knot in the shape of a four pointed star. No book Felix has ever read has mentioned this, and not even Hyunjin has talked about anything like this. Felix hasn’t the faintest idea what it is. Eventually, Minho takes his arm back.

“A promise,” he says, rubbing his thumb over it for a second before slipping his sleeve back on. “The one bond I can never - will never - break.”

“It won’t do me any good to ask who you made it to, will it?” Felix scoots forward and takes Minho’s hand. No longer does his skin burn to the touch; if anything, it seems far colder than usual. Perhaps the chilly night air has gotten to him.

“Maybe one day,” Minho responds, tilting his head to the sky as though he can see. The moon is back out from behind the clouds, providing more light than the fire at this point. It makes it easy to forget the bodies scattered around the clearing. 

“I’ll hold you to it,” Felix warns. Minho just hums tiredly. He breaks their hands apart.

“Get some sleep, Felix.” Minho stands and kicks dirt over the fire with surprising accuracy. He collects his weapons from the ground. “You only have a few hours.”

“What about-”

“I think we are in the clear, but I will keep watch regardless.” Honestly, Felix hadn’t even been thinking about another attack - just that Minho, after all this, must be exhausted for once. Tonight, just like always, he doesn’t press it.

“You’re flying blind,” he says instead. At this, Minho just grins.

“I see more than you think I do.” 

He leaves Felix to puzzle over far too many things until he falls into dreamless sleep.

  
  
  


A hard poke to Hyunjin’s side has his eyes flying open. In a flash, dozens of images flood his vision: an arrow flying out of the darkness, the orange firelight, Minho moving in what seems like slow motion, an outstretched hand meeting his chest and sending him stumbling back, the sickening sound of an arrow piercing flesh, the smell of blood.

Minho with an arrow through his heart.

Minho is dead.

Hyunjin’s heart leaps into his throat in a panic and he struggles to escape his sheets and cape. The cloth feels like a vice, and Hyunjin’s panic goes into overdrive as his stomach joins his heart and he breathes far too quickly. He’s about two seconds from retching when he looks over to see a familiar figure toeing at Felix’s side. He freezes at the sight.

“Minho?” Like he’s seen a ghost, Hyunjin goes cold. Sheets be damned, he scrambles to his feet and throws himself through the gray air, half expecting the fog to be playing tricks on him. The figure’s mouth parts slightly as he turns, and Hyunjin sends him several steps backwards as he throws his arms around him. “Minho!” Hyunjin, taller as he is, buries his head in Minho’s shoulder as he cries. “I thought you were dead,” Hyunjin sobs. “I watched you die.” If this is a hallucination, then it is as vivid as life. A hand rubs his back gently, another threads through his hair.

“Sorry for telling you to shut up,” Minho says as casually as if last night had never happened.

“I don’t care about that.” Hyunjin squeezes his eyes tightly shut. “I don’t care about any of it.” The image of Minho is burned into his retinas, the sound forever ringing in his head. “You… you…” 

“I am _fine_ , Hyunjin,” Minho assures him. 

“You took the arrow for me.” The wet patch on Minho’s shoulder grows. “I told you not to. I told you. You can’t die, please don’t die. Saving me isn’t worth losing you.”

“Saving you is what I was sent here to do,” Minho murmurs. “If I must do it a thousand times over, then I will.” 

“I want you to live,” Hyunjin insists. The silence that follows is just a little too long. Though Minho says nothing, his hands still.

“It did not kill me,” he finally says. “The arrow missed my heart and Felix helped heal me.” Carefully, he tilts Hyunjin’s head back up and wipes at his tears. “As you can see, I am quite all right. I am not so easy to kill.” He grins a little. Now Hyunjin can see the cloth tied over Minho’s eyes and his brows knit in concern all over as he sniffles and does his best to rein in the rest of his tears. He rests a hand against Minho’s face, thumb running over the fabric. Minho starts a little at this.

“Are you?” Hyunjin asks. Not unkindly, Minho bats his hand away.

“My eyes are just irritated from staring at the fire too closely.” He ruffles Hyunjin’s hair a bit. “Nothing for you to worry about. They will be fine in a few days.” The crack of a branch behind him diverts his attention and Minho walks over to a newly appeared Soonie with a delighted expression.

“What happened last night?” Hyunjin pokes Felix as the two of them gather up their sleepmats. The sun hasn’t even broken through the trees yet, and Felix is all soft grays and muted edges in the light. Felix glances at Minho from the corner of his eye, then at the empty clearing, then back at Hyunjin. He shrugs.

“Don’t worry about it.” Hyunjin can hear the implied _“I don’t want to talk about it_ ,” as loud and clear as if Felix had shouted it. The thing is, he wants to worry about it. There’s something profoundly wrong about Felix and Minho living through an attack that he waited out in blissful unconsciousness, and he doesn’t think Felix is as okay as he’s acting. 

“I’m worried about _you_.” 

“I’m okay.” Felix’s brow is gathered like the fabric he twists in his hands. 

“I’m here if you want to talk about it.” Hyunjin places a hand on Felix’s shoulder and squeezes gently.

“Thanks,” Felix sighs, a grim kind of half smile on his face, “but I think I’ll pass. All you need to know-” he pushes Hyunjin a little, “- is that I saved you from splitting your head open. You fell like a sack of potatoes.”

“Nope.” Hyunjin shakes his head, catching Felix’s attempt at levity and bolstering it. “I don’t remember that. Didn’t happen.”

“Lucky you. Do you know how much your head weighs? I swear it’s gotten bigger.”

“Was it embarrassing?”

“Very.”

“You’re the worst friend I’ve ever had.” Hyunjin sticks his tongue out at Felix. 

“Likewise.” Felix returns the gesture. There’s a lull as the two of them buckle their sleepmats to their saddles. Hyunjin, done earlier, closes the gap between them and lightly taps their heads together before pulling Felix into a hug.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Felix.” A kind of relief washes away some of the tension in the way Felix holds himself and he slumps in Hyunjin’s arms, just a little.

“I’m glad too.”

“We should leave,” Minho calls as he swings up onto Soonie. She paws the ground and shakes her mane with impatience. “There is still a ways to go.”

“Give us a moment,” Hyunjin calls back, releasing Felix. “Did you two make up?”

“We weren’t fighting?” Felix unties his horse and undoes his knotted reins, pulling himself into the saddle.

“Could have fooled me.” Hyunjin follows suit, Kkami yawning and shifting sleepy muscles. “What was yesterday all about then? It was… weird. I don’t know. Felt like something in the air had shifted.”

“Oh, I just-” Felix pauses to glance at Minho. “Nothing really happened. I think I asked Minho something he didn’t like, and he gave me an answer I didn’t want to hear, but we weren’t fighting.” He blinks, shaking his head suddenly. “But it’s fine now. All that stuff feels small compared to getting attacked.”

“Yeah…” They nudge their horses forward in tandem, towards a waiting Minho.

“How do you intend to lead the way like this?” Felix asks almost incredulously.

“I do not,” Minho says cheerfully. “Soonie knows the way.”

“Soonie?”

“Mm.”

“She’s a horse,” Felix deadpans.

“Wonderful observation!” Minho claps sarcastically. “Of course she is. But she is exceptionally clever, and she will not steer us wrong.”

“Weirder things have happened, I suppose,” Felix mutters, but as they head back towards the path, he turns to Hyunjin and mouths _“A horse!”_ with utter disbelief. Hyunjin laughs, but it’s empty. He isn’t thinking much about Soonie leading them. It could be Minho’s bow come to life for all he cares.

Instead, he wonders since when Felix has started to lie to him.

  
  


Somewhat shockingly, Soonie does really seem to know the way, even after they leave the path and have to make their own. Today, there are no breaks. They eat only once, around high-sun, and even then Minho insists they remain on horseback as they do so. By midafternoon, they come upon the border, designated here by shallow brook. Soonie, with hardly any run up, takes it flying. Minho seems to expect it, not even mildly jostled as her legs meet the soft grass of the other side and she springs into a gallop. Without being asked, Hyunjin and Felix’s horses take the same leap, and they are much less prepared for it, gripped by sudden panic and mentally scrambling to ensure they don’t end up in the water. Just like Soonie, their horses land into a gallop, throwing their heads in excitement at the more open, bright forest. It’s hard to begrudge them that; even just entering the kingdom, the feeling of home sinks into Hyunjin and Felix’s veins. It’s the chirping of birds, the way the sun sparkles on emerald and ruby leaves, the way it dapples the ground in gold. Even the air feels different, sharp with just a hint of autumn, but in a way that is familiar and comforting.

Everything just feels _right_ , fitting perfectly into place where everything in the Kingdom Beneath the Stars had just been slightly off.

It’s good to be home.

Minhyun is outside when they arrive, deep golden sunlight glinting off his sword as he spars with a friend. He pauses when he sees them coming, bringing up a hand to shield his eyes before he breaks into a smile and waves.

“Hy- hey, that’s not fair!” He jerks his head back as his partner disarms him and holds her sword up a few inches from his throat with a smug, victorious grin. Minhyun scowls at her and shoves away her arm, then returns to waving. “You’re wanted, Hyunjin,” he says. They’ve barely even halted their horses.

“Now?” Hyunjin asks, exasperated.

“No, next week.” Minhyun rolls his eyes and comes to stand beside Kkami, clearly waiting for Hyunjin. “Obviously now.”

“Why?” 

“Well, I would imagine it has something to do with the festival.” Hyunjin dismounts with a sigh.

“It’s the same thing every year,” he whines. “What are they going to say they haven’t said a hundred times over? I'm not an elfling.”

“I’m just the messenger.” Minhyun raises his hands in surrender. “I've heard it far more times than you. At least we can suffer together.”

“Oh, joy,” Hyunjin says emotionlessly. He hands his reins to Felix, feet now firmly on the ground as well. “That’s cheered me right up.”

“Is that any way to treat me, your favorite brother?” Minhyun places a hand over his heart 

“Just because you’re the only one I have, that doesn’t mean you’re my favorite.” Hyunjin’s expression is open and honest with exaggerated sincerity.

“After all I’ve done for you…” Minhyun gasps and shakes his head at Felix and Minho, even turning to his sparring partner. “Do you see how he wounds me?”

“Let’s go, brother dearest.” Now it’s Hyunjin who rolls his eyes, grabbing Minhyun by the wrist and pulling him towards the palace. 

“Oh, Felix,” Minhyun calls over his shoulder. Felix makes a sound of acknowledgement. “Your mother is here! She’ll be in the guest wing, I would assume.”

Felix can almost feel himself perk up at that. He hasn’t seen either of his parents since last year’s festival, never finding the right time to visit his village, and, as grown as he is, he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop missing them for good. Though he’s lived here - more or less on his own - for longer than he lived with them, there’s always a distinct sort of feeling he gets from being around them - a childhood warmth he can’t ever truly return to, but that he can’t let go of either.

“I will let you go then,” Minho says once they enter the palace, swarms of servants bustling around like never before to finish everything before tomorrow. Despite his blindfold, Minho dodges them with ease as they make their way towards much quieter hallways deeper in the building. “So you can see your mother,” he clarifies when they reach the steps and pause.

“You don’t have to.” Felix shrugs. “She’ll meet you eventually; I doubt she’ll mind doing it now.”

“I would not want to impose.”

“It’s hardly an imposition.” Minho shifts, as if just a tiny bit unsure of himself. “Do you not _want_ to meet her?” Felix asks, brow furrowed.

“It is not that…” Minho trails off, mouth still slightly open like he’s going to continue at any moment but can’t find an explanation. With his eyes and brows hidden, Felix has an even harder time reading Minho than he normally might.

“Yongbok!”

Felix lights up with a smile as he turns his head to see his mother, an equally bright smile on her face as she runs down the hall towards him.

“Mother!” Her hands are gentle on his face even with her clear excitement and she presses their heads together lightly before she pulls back and scans him over.

“It’s been so long; let me look at you. Have you been well?” His mother places her hands firmly on his shoulders. “They’re not overworking you are they?”

“I’m fine, Mother.” Felix pulls her into a hug. “They always treat me well, you know that. How have you been?”

“Well, I’m glad of that.” She rubs his back a few times. “I cannot complain. The village is as quiet as ever.”

“How’s Father?” Felix asks with slightly more concern. “He didn’t come this year.”

“He’s helping to organize our feast this year,” his mother explains. “He’s doing well; sends his love and well-wishes to you, as always.”

“And I to him.” Very suddenly remembering that they’re not alone, Felix breaks the hug and gestures towards Minho. “This is Minho: Hyunjin’s bodyguard. Minho, this is my mother, Eunchae. She’s a harpist.”

“I am honored to meet you,” Minho says softly, placing a fist over his heart and inclining his head a little. His shoulders are stiff.

“Likewise.” Felix’s mother returns the gesture. Though she smiles, Felix can see her studying him carefully, can see the gears turning in her head. She doesn’t question the blindfold, much to the relief Felix didn’t know he had. “You look familiar.” Does she remember, though Felix could not? Guilt swirls in his stomach again, then uncertainty and panic. His mother had never liked Minho, and Minho had known that. Of course he had not wanted to meet her again. But then… Minho hadn’t remembered Felix. Why would he remember his mother? He glances at Minho, but other than the tension in his shoulders, Minho looks blank. He smiles, but only just; polite, but nothing more than that. 

“I get that a lot.” Minho laughs, small and clear as bells. It lacks something of his usual self.

“You remind me of-” Felix holds his breath. “- an old friend of mine.” He relaxes. “Something about you… you look exactly like her.” 

“Oh.” Minho doesn’t relax, but something in him visibly softens, his voice suddenly far quieter than it had been. His smile shifts into something, some sort of emotion Felix really can’t figure out from his mouth alone, and Minho says nothing more for a long few seconds. “I should…” What Felix can place is how fragile Minho’s voice has become. He frowns a little at that. “I should see how Hyunjin is getting on. It was nice meeting you, but if you would excuse me.” With that, he turns on his heel and ascends to the second floor like Felix’s mother has grown fangs and frightened him away.

“He seems like a good elf,” his mother says. It’s almost funny. Almost. “If a bit shy.” Felix just hums. “How is Hyunjin? I haven’t seen him yet.” The halls are beginning to grow dark, so Felix guides her back towards her room.

“He’s all right. I expect you’ll see him tomorrow.”

“I heard you went to the Kingdom Beneath the Stars. How was it?”

“Well…” Felix begins a lengthy, detailed story about their trip, skipping over the more dangerous parts. He’s doing his very best to forget them, and even as they’ve been burned into his brain forever, bits and pieces are fuzzy, the details lost to him. Though it’s unexpected, he certainly won’t complain. 

Tonight, his dreams are of playing with Minho, as bright and happy as Felix had always thought of him, in their childhood village. Nothing looms over them, no promise of misfortune to come. It’s just nice. It rains and they dance in it and laugh, relishing the feeling of truly being alive. It’s sunny and they soak in it and chase each other around in games of tag. It’s night and Minho’s eyes sparkle with stars and desperate, desperate hope. The sun rises and Minho wakes up Felix so that they might share the beauty together. The sun sets and they sit side by side in the trees to watch it in a silence that always feels blue. The sun sets and Minho turns away, walking into the forest alone. Felix reaches for him, but Minho is always just out of reach. The sun sets and what’s done is done, and even a world of his own creation, Felix cannot seem to undo it.

He leaves.

No matter what Felix does, Minho always leaves.

  
  
  
  


“Hyunjin.” Minho catches him as he walks out of his room, still rubbing his eyes to try to wake himself up more in the gray light of predawn. 

“Have you been here all night?” Hyunjin asks, eyeing Minho. The bloodstained clothes are gone, replaced with white, gold, and silver, just like when he had first arrived. It isn’t dissimilar to what Hyunjin wears today; white for reverence and light, gold for the sun, silver for the moon and the stars. He thinks it suits Minho more, like the colors are made for him, while Hyunjin only wears them twice a year and finds himself missing reds and greens, purples and oranges, and even blues. The abrupt shift in color feels so odd when he sees himself in the mirror, like it isn’t quite him. 

Minho waves a hand like it’s of little importance. “Let me take your place,” he says. “In the archery competition. Let me do it.”

“Um,” Hyunjin tugs his sleeve gently as he starts to walk down the hall, “all right, but why? I thought you had no interest in it.” He had offered, ages ago, but Minho had made some joke about not wanting to show off and said he’d be perfectly happy just watching. 

“I thought it would not be my place to.” Minho frowns, just a little. “But I feel that I must. There is something I must do. Something I need to prove. You could call it a childhood dream.”

“But…” 

_“I have nothing to prove to anyone.”_

What has changed since then?

“What could you possibly have to prove?” It doesn’t make sense. Minho holds his head high and proud like it is his birthright. 

“Myself.”

“Why?” Hyunjin’s brows knit themselves together. “To whom?” Minho falls silent, lip snagged on his teeth. “You can take my place; I just want to understand your change of heart.”

“Everyone. No one. Myself. Even if it does not matter to anyone but me, I have to do it. I have to win.” Hyunjin steals a glance at Minho. 

“But your eyes…” he reaches for the blindfold and Minho leans his head back out of reach. “How will you shoot if you cannot see?” If Minho does not succeed, will it hurt him? The stakes are notably unspoken. 

“I can.” 

If it will, is it worth it? Surely false pride is better than disappointment.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Hyunjin asks softly.

“I am,” Minho says firmly. “I must win.” He is rigid in his insistence. “I know what I am doing.” In this moment, the presence he exudes is so commanding that Hyunjin almost feels as though he should bow, to give way.

“If you’re sure…” 

Minho nods, his mouth set in a determined line. It’s unusual for him, but not unfitting, given how strongly he seems to feel about this. They’re silent until they step outside onto dewy grass, twinkling beneath their feet in the early rays of the sun. Slowly, those from nearby villages are arriving, melding into the last minute set up of the palace servants, laying out food on a long table and helping the musicians bring their instruments. Hyunjin’s parents are greeting guests as they arrive, his brother a few steps off to the side speaking to another elf.

“That’s Dahyun,” Hyunjin whispers to Minho, eyes searching the growing crowd for Felix. “She’s one of the best archers in the kingdom. She’s won five years in a row, and been shooting in Minhyun’s place for four.” He pauses. “You don’t know who I mean, do you?” It’s all too easy to forget that Minho can’t see right now. 

“Her?” Minho points with surprising accuracy, causing Hyunjin to blink in mild surprise. 

“Yeah,” he confirms. “She’s been doing this her whole life; she’s frighteningly good, Minho.”

“But so have I.” Hyunjin spots Felix, talking to his mother, and waves to him. Felix tilts his head in acknowledgement and waves back, but maintains focus on his mother. Still, Hyunjin takes a detour, Minho only a step behind, and approaches the pair. “And she does not scare me.”

“You haven’t seen her shoot.”

“And you have barely seen me,” Minho points out. “She might be one of the best archers in your kingdom, but I am one of the best in mine.” He’s silent for a long moment. “I can do this, Hyunjin. I believe in myself.” This is… less certain than it had been before, some of Minho’s bluster falling flat as they approach Felix and his mother. Hyunjin takes his hand and squeezes it a little. 

“I believe in you too. I’m sure you will do well.”

“But not that I will win?” Hyunjin’s eyes go wide, mouth open as he scrambles to backtrack, but then he catches sight of the playful grin on Minho’s face. He relaxes.

“I think you can win,” he says anyway. 

“Prince Hyunjin.” Felix’s mother greets him with a smile and a bow. “I swear you’ve grown since the last time I saw you.” Hyunjin gives her a brief hug.

“Perhaps you have just shrunk, Eunchae,” he teases. “You’ve been well, I hope.” With a hand, he gestures behind him. “This is Minho, my-”

“We have met,” Minho interrupts, stiff but not exactly unkind. The commanding presence he had had earlier is gone, and Minho instead seems to fade into the background, just as he had when he had first arrived. 

“Minho will take my place in the archery competition,” Hyunjin explains. Felix raises his brows.

“You must be a good shot, Minho,” Felix’s mother tells him warmly. 

“I have devoted too much of my time not to be,” Minho returns stiltedly. Mist rises from the dewy grass around them and the sun provides him with a golden halo. “Perhaps I should-”

“Why don’t we walk you to breakfast?” Hyunjin catches Minho’s sleeve before he can leave, focus still on Felix and his mother. 

“Don’t you usually avoid it?” Eunchae asks. “I do recall a younger Prince Hyunjin chasing Felix around for eating in front of him.”

“Younger?” Felix snorts. “Didn’t that happen last year too?”

“It did not!” Hyunjin tells him indignantly. “Besides-” he pulls at Minho’s sleeve a bit, “- this year I have a fasting friend.”

“Fasting friend?” Minho tilts his head at Hyunjin.

“Royalty does not eat until the sun goes down,” Hyunjin explains, “and you hardly do anyway, so it works out well, don’t you think?”

“In the Kingdom Beneath the Moon, their royals do not eat from sundown to sunrise.” The comment is offhand and seemingly out of nowhere, almost more of a quiet reminder Minho gives himself than something for the whole group to hear.

“Really?” Eunchae, whether genuinely interested or not, looks at Minho curiously. When he does not answer, she looks to Hyunjin instead.

“I think Seungmin said something about that once,” he concludes after a minute. “They respect the moon as we do the sun, so it makes sense.” It doesn’t explain why Minho had brought it up, but Minho is no more forthcoming on the topic. “I ought to join my parents in greeting.” Hyunjin smiles apologetically. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

“I’ll save you some,” Felix calls after him.

“Ha ha,” Hyunjin says with heavy sarcasm, making a not so polite gesture at Felix that he’s glad his parents don’t see. Felix makes it right back, and earns an immediate scolding from his own mother.

“Do you not like Felix’s mother?” Hyunjin broaches when he deems them out of earshot.

“What makes you think that?” No one Hyunjin has ever known has perfected a neutral tone quite like Minho has. It’s infuriating, a reminder of a wall he can’t get past. 

“Well-” It takes a full three second pause for Hyunjin to realize that he doesn’t have any sort of proof. 

“Well?” Even if he can’t see Minho’s eyes, there’s no doubt in his mind that there’s an expectant raised brow beneath the blindfold. 

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “Just a feeling, I guess.”

“I have no reason to like her.”

“You have none to dislike her.”

“It matters not what I think,” Minho sighs, and a bitter wind curls around them. “It changes nothing. There are more important things for me to care about right now.”

“The competition?”

“Among other things.”

Sometimes, talking to Minho feels more like a sparring match Hyunjin didn’t know he was part of. He strikes and Minho parries. He strikes and Minho parries. He strikes and Minho parries. Try as he might, he can’t break through the defense, and Minho always keeps him at a distance. Minho never moves to the offensive, but Hyunjin always leaves with an odd sort of hurt in his chest. Why does Minho feel the need to so valiantly defend himself? There is no part of Hyunjin that wants to hurt him, nor to poke and prod at any old injuries that may be there. He thinks that he could scream this, could write it into a thousand letters, and it would make no difference. 

But Hyunjin is willing to scream until his throat goes raw and write until his hand goes numb if it means understanding Minho, even a little bit. Even now, as Minho excuses himself and Hyunjin’s eyes follow him far down the grass until Minho kneels and bows towards the sun in prayer, Hyunjin wants to reach out for him. 

He doesn’t of course - tied to the responsibility of greetings and the knowledge that prayers are private affairs. But they need not be solitary. Minho has chosen to be, however, and so even after the last guest is greeted, Hyunjin does not go to him. He only casts glances as the sun climbs higher in the sky and notes that Minho does not move once.

“Do you think he’s fallen asleep?” He asks Felix as high-sun steadily approaches. The two of them are gathered in a crowd, watching an elf paint climbing vines on a squirming elfling’s face. If he tries hard enough, he can conjure the memories of paintbrushes tickling his own face like that, decades and decades ago, before he and Felix had met. A fleeting, bittersweet sort of feeling pulls at his heart. The simple joys of his childhood are impossible to return to.

“What - like you did?” Felix teases, bumping Hyunjin’s shoulder with his.

“It was one time,” Hyunjin whines, bumping Felix back. “And I was little.”

“I know, I know.” Felix raises his hands in surrender. “I doubt he has, anyway. It wouldn’t be like him.”

“He’s dedicated.”

“Does it really shock you?” Hyunjin raises a brow in question. “It’s not like you to forget that Minho isn’t like us. Light must be far more sacred in his kingdom.”

“He is like us,” Hyunjin says after a pause. “He was born here, after all. A river cannot change its course.” Then, because Felix gives him an utterly indecipherable look, one that teeters on the edge of too many things all at once: “Elves are Elves.” Felix hums flatly and looks back to Minho. 

Twisting. Curling. Smoke in Hyunjin’s lungs, swirling among his ribs. 

“You trust me, right?” Felix turns to him and tilts his head.

“With my life.” His voice is earnest, almost painfully so. “You know that, Hyunjin.” Concern pinches in Felix’s brows. “Why?”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Hyunjin thinks back to the other day, thinks about Felix now. The way he brushes things off, the way his face gets when he wants to say something, but never does. 

“No.” 

The way that he lies. 

“There’s nothing.” 

Felix tries too hard to believe in his own dishonesty; when he sells it like this, it is nothing more than a cheap, obvious imitation of truth. 

“What’s brought this on?” The genuine bewilderment in his eyes is the only thing that catches Hyunjin. “Do _you_ think I’m not telling you something?” It gives Hyunjin pause. His mouth twists.

“I don’t know. Are you?”

“No!” Felix insists. 

“Okay.” Hyunjin accepts the lie, even if he doesn’t buy it. He knows there are things that Felix keeps to himself, just as Hyunjin does. The older they get, the less of a hard line _“no secrets”_ becomes between them. It’s not that that bothers him. If Felix admitted it, Hyunjin would be curious, but he’d back off. The fact that Felix chooses to lie is what causes the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. It isn’t like him. Not at all. Maybe it _shouldn’t_ bother Hyunjin so much, but it does. “Sorry.” 

“It’s all right.” Felix shrugs. He weaves their fingers together, and Hyunjin looks over to Minho one last time. “It’s been a weird week. I understand if you’re on edge.”

“Maybe I’m projecting,” Hyunjin sighs, then pulls his hand free, hits his cheeks with his hands, and shakes his head. “Today is supposed to be fun; I’ll stop bringing down the mood. Let’s go see your mother before the contest.” Grinning, he takes Felix’s hand again and pulls him away from the face painter.

  
  


The archery contest is the highlight of the festival; the pride of any elf. It’s a lengthy event, hours on end and over a dozen rounds of narrowing the competition, but it always garners the largest, most attentive crowd. Whether they themselves can shoot well or not, a kind of love for archery seems ingrained in them, like it’s been passed down every generation since the god of light created the First Elves. Hyunjin has often wondered - wonders now as he takes his seat beside his parents rather than his place on the range - if he and Minhyun are disappointments. Their mother had been a champion for years, the perfect, stereotypical sort of Elf that’s written about in the books of Men, and their father head of the guard for over half a millenium. 

Today, his doubts are, as always assuaged. His parents only smile and nod in understanding when he tells them that Minho will shoot in his place, and his mother runs her hands through his hair and presses her head to his. 

“I’m interested to see him shoot,” she says, and Hyunjin hums in agreement. “But-”

“I don’t understand the blindfold either,” Hyunjin tells her, “but he wants to keep it on; says it won’t bother him.” 

“I’ll be impressed if that’s true.” The queen studies Minho more keenly now. “I’ve never known an elf to shoot blind, at least not by choice.” Minho stands as tall and steady as ever, seemingly not the least bit nervous. Unlike the few other times Hyunjin has watched him, however, he isn’t smiling. No, Minho’s face is a deadly sort of serious as he cracks his neck in preparation for the first round. 

“Archers, ready!” The referee shouts and the first batch of contestants draw their arrows. He blows a horn and instantaneously a volley of arrows flies down the range. The competition begins.

And Minho is _good_ . Hyunjin has known this, but until now he hasn’t really _known_ it. Minho is good in the way that Dahyun is, is good in the way elflings scouted for the guard are. He hits bullseye after bullseye like it’s nothing, his aim just as true as it has always been. As the day goes on and the hours drag by and the competition grows smaller and smaller, Minho is unwavering. Where even some of the best soldiers lose strength in their arms, his are steady. Over and over, the warm red of his fletching clusters into a rosy bouquet in the target. 

The distance between him and Dahyun closes after every round as more and more elves fall out of the contest. It shocks no one when they reach the final round together, neck and neck.

“You are the first elf in a while to go toe to toe with me.” She sticks out her arm, as is considered polite. “It feels good to have some real competition. I wish you luck, Minho.” Minho thrusts his own arm forward and the two of them grab each other’s forearms and bow their heads slightly to each other. 

“And I you, Dahyun.” Though her gaze is calm and collected, Dahyun’s teeth are gritted just a little too much when she smiles. When they turn towards their respective targets, the entire crowd has fallen silent. Even the birds in the trees have stopped their singing. Larger than life shadows reach for the crowd in golden grass, and everything feels like it is holding its breath.

There is no room for error in this last round. The minute one of them scores lower than the other, it ends. Dahyun has earned a reputation for winning after only one arrow has been shot. As Minhyun says, it’s her ability to perform under pressure that is her greatest asset.

Her eyes narrow when she and Minho both make bullseyes. Once. Twice. Then three times. Minhyun sits forward in his chair, eyes glued to the scene in front of them. 

He’s not the only one. 

Two more bullseyes. Minho’s is dead center, his arrows burying themselves deeper with every shot.

As Minho and Dahyun draw their fifth arrows, Hyunjin sees a bead of sweat trickle down Dahyun’s face. The length of the final round seems to be getting to her; never before has she shown signs of losing the cool attitude that has gotten her so far.

Finally there’s a break in the straight line of Minho’s mouth. The corner of his lip rises, just a little bit, in a smirk. He and Dahyun release at the same time.

A sharp, out of place crack resounds in the silence and echoes around them. 

Dahyun has just barely missed out on a ten.

Minho has matched his last shot exactly and split his own arrow in half. Hyunjin doesn’t think there’s a single elf whose eyes are not bugging out of their head. His parents seem too shocked for words, and Hyunjin can feel his mouth drop open. Minho dips his head to Dahyun, who just blinks at him in stunned silence, and approaches the royal family. Every eye is on him as he stops several yards away, head high and face serious once more. Hyunjin can do nothing except stare at him. 

“Your champion has won.” It’s his father who regains words first. “What request do you have, Prince Hyunjin?”

“I…” Hyunjin’s mind is utterly blank. He has practically all he could ever want; even if Hyunjin had won with his own talent, he thinks he would forsake this prize. “I give my request to Minho.”

“And what is your request for us, Minho?” The king asks, turning to him. 

“Must I ask it of you?” Murmurs of confusion run through the crowd, Hyunjin himself tilting his head and furrowing his brow at Minho. Even if his family only accepts requests at their discretion, they are able to grant wishes no one else has the power to. Minho isn’t making sense.

“No,” the queen answers, glancing over to the king, “I suppose not. But we cannot make anyone else accept it.”

“That is fine.”

 _“What are you doing?”_ Hyunjin wants to ask, to mouth. But there’s no way Minho would see (and Hyunjin doubts he would get an answer anyway).

“Who do you wish to ask?”

Minho raises his bow and points the tip towards the crowd, causing even more murmurs. Everyone looks around themselves, and Hyunjin catches Felix’s baffled expression as the two of them make eye contact. Minho turns his head sharply.

“Eunchae.” It’s as direct as an arrow. Felix’s mother almost seems to go pale and Felix holds his shoulder tightly. Minho strides over now and the crowd parts to let him. Only Felix and his mother are frozen in place. Their confusion is palpable and under Minho’s intense aura, Felix’s mother practically shrinks into her son. Felix is… surprisingly calm, given the situation. Almost like, though confused, this doesn’t really shock him.

When he stops in front of them, Minho softens immeasurably. “Will you tell me about your friend?” Eunchae visibly relaxes, but Felix starts and looks at Minho like he’s grown a second head. Hyunjin imagines that he wears much the same expression. By Sun, what is _happening?_

“That’s easy enough,” Eunchae says with pleasant bemusement. “Aye, I can do that, young Minho.”

Felix and Hyunjin make eye contact a second time and Hyunjin pinches his brows in question. Felix shakes his head, eyes wide, and mouths _“I don’t know.”_

They never do with Minho, do they? 

But maybe it doesn't matter, because Minho smiles in a way he never has before and it's so painful to look at that suddenly knowing feels far from important.

  
  


“My friend,” Felix’s mother begins as night falls and everyone sits at long tables to eat, “did you know her?” Minho is across from her and Felix, hands folded on the table and body language attentive.

“No.” Minho shakes his head. “I am just curious. I have no family that I know of and perhaps… if she looks like me…” Felix narrows his eyes, lips pursed as he studies Minho. He hadn’t expected Minho to approach his mother, but given that he had, and with such purpose, Felix had assumed that Minho had a bone to pick with her. Maybe he had remembered the way she had treated him. That would make sense, would be perfectly logical to him. _This,_ however, feels out of place. 

Felix casts a glance down the table as his mother begins to speak. (She has forgotten much. Her friend was ambitious; a go getter. She knew what she wanted out of life and she strove to achieve it. A hard worker rather than a talent. Minho listens with rapt attention, spellbound.) If Felix is miffed by the situation, then Hyunjin is entirely out of the loop. He looks as much too, a muddled sort of frown on his face as he stares at the amaranth on his plate like it will explain everything to him. Even when he chews, it is with too much thought, to the point that Minhyun starts teasing him about it. That, at least, seems to distract him. 

It sucks to lie to Hyunjin. Especially when Felix wants nothing more than to explain everything, if only so that he himself can fully process it: the welcome conclusion to his nightmares, his near death experience, Minho. And as much as it sucks for him to lie, Hyunjin must feel worse for not knowing. His frustration is not as subtle as he seems to think. As little as Felix knows, it's still something. 

It isn't fair to Hyunjin to keep such important things from him, but it isn't fair to Minho to spill secrets he promised to keep. He almost feels like he couldn't even if he wanted to, the feathers from before choking him once more. Felix feels like he's the rope in a game of tug of war, caught between best friends old and new. It isn't really fair to him either. When he breaks (and he knows it's inevitable if things go on like this), he knows it's Hyunjin who he will give in to, Minho who he will end up hurting. Someone hurts if he lies. Someone hurts if he tells the truth. So long as Felix is in the equation, he loses no matter what. 

He looks away from Hyunjin and the conversation his parents have roped him and his brother into. It has smoothed the frown away for now. 

At every moment, Felix expects Minho to reveal himself, to announce to his mother that he is the elfling she so insistently looked down upon and blamed just to rub her praise of him in her face. But Minho doesn't. He's practically silent as Felix's mother speaks aside from well timed hums of interest and soft "oh"s. The smile that rests on his face has an unusually soft kind of happiness to it, the sort that feels like it had once been excitement, but has been weathered into wistfulness. 

(Felix has seen something like it before. An old memory; a sky full of stars, a child's ache for a faraway dream. This is different.) 

"She had a son," Felix's mother is saying. "Bad luck from birth; he was born under a terrible storm. She always said he'd be something wonderful, but…" She sighs, and in that moment Felix feels like he's lit a candle in a dark room. "Sad little thing, really." There's a pause as his mother blinks and shakes her head a bit. "I'd quite forgotten about him until now. I can't even remember his name. I wonder what became of him." 

Now Felix is sure that Minho will tear away his deception. To prove her wrong in every regard and to rebuke her. Felix loves his mother to pieces, but he can't say she wouldn't deserve it. 

"The child matters not," Minho waves a hand dismissively, the words almost hurried. It is nothing like the reaction Felix expects. "If you forgot him, then I doubt he was of any importance." Felix frowns. "Please; continue." 

"There's not much more to tell." Felix's mother shrugs, less animated than she had been at the beginning. "She died within the decade." Felix remembers this day, if only in snippets. He remembers the palpable emotion in the village, a cacophony of confusion, anger, and sadness when the body - and the body of her husband - had been brought back. He remembers - peeking out from behind his father's legs and clutching his hand - seeing the child, not so many years older than him, curled up in someone's arms. The bloodstained tunic and fearful, vacant eyes - red like the boy had been crying - superimpose themselves in his memory. 

"How did she die?" Felix asks, skin crawling as he feels like a stranger intruding on something he is not privy to. 

"We never knew for sure." His mother takes his hand and squeezes it gently. "She was a stone's throw away from the border - and it was when unrest was just beginning in the Kingdom Beneath the Stars - so we've always assumed she was shot by rebels, though the mystery of _why_ will never find an answer." 

“Blue feathers…” Minho murmurs to himself. They both look at him, picking at his nails with a frown twisted on his face. 

_(“Blue feathers.” The same empty look, though decades have passed. Shoulders hunched. Small, fearful. Felix learns not to ask.)_

“Hm?” Felix’s mother raises a brow and Minho seems to remember that he is not alone. The frown smoothes out and his hands fall to his lap.

“Rebels used blue fletching on their arrows,” he explains. Steady and confident in his words, it sounds like old news coming from him. Not at all the new discovery it is to Felix. “If that is what was found… then…” 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Eunchae.” Someone taps her shoulder. “But we’re switching now.” All three of them look towards the group of musicians now standing and stretching and passing off instruments to others. 

“I’ll be right there.” Felix’s mother smiles, then turns back to Minho. “I’m sorry that I have forgotten so much. I hope it was enough.”

“More than.” Minho dips his head at her. “Thank you, Eunchae. Really.” Minho’s smile is a bittersweet kind of peaceful. He and Felix talk little over the rest of dinner, and it remains there as Minho pushes mustard greens around his plate for the next hour.

  
  


Even after dinner, when Hyunjin has joined them and the three of them sit on the grass and tilt their heads up to the sky, it does not fade. For a while, Hyunjin and Felix make a game out of searching for constellations, but no one keeps score and it becomes boring quickly. The stars are not really what interests either of them tonight. 

“What did you want to know?” Hyunjin asks Minho, leaning back on his palms and glancing at him. 

“About Eunchae’s friend.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Hyunjin sighs wearily. 

“If you want to know why, then ask why,” Minho retorts without any real heat.

“Will you actually tell me if I do?” Despite the fact that Hyunjin is serious, Minho laughs.

“Yes, Hyunjin, I will tell you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Fine. Why?”

“I was curious.” Minho shrugs. Like he can sense Hyunjin’s rising protests, he pats his hand gently to calm him. “I lost my parents some time ago and since I have no blood family in the Kingdom of Light, I thought perhaps I might have some here.”

“Oh,” Hyunjin says, voice far softer than it had been. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.” Minho shrugs again.

“So then… do you think she’s related to you?”

“I do not know.” Above, the stars almost seem to glitter. “But it is nice to imagine.”

“Hyunjin!” The king yells from down the field. Hyunjin and Felix both turn to look at him. “It’s time.” Hyunjin stands with apologies and “see you tomorrow”s, brushing grass off his pants as he hurries towards his father. 

“Prayer?” Minho asks Felix.

“Mm,” Felix hums in confirmation. “Until the sun rises.” 

“Ah.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, soaking in starlight and moonlight.

“Do you remember telling me that Elves become stars when we die?”

“Did I?” Minho sounds interested. 

“You said it seemed nice, that we all had someone watching over us.” Crickets fill the lull between them. Felix chances a look at Minho, awash in chilly white, like marble. “She was your mother, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah.” That painful smile once more. “She was.” Minho rolls a blade of grass between his fingers. “It is nice to hear a memory that is not my own, for once. I always wanted to know what my parents were like.”

“You don’t remember?”

Minho shakes his head. “They were kind to me. They loved me. I know nothing else really.”

“Those are good things to know.” It feels oddly like reassurance, though Felix isn’t sure why.

“I suppose they are.” Minho’s face softens and he folds his arms over his knees. Around them, festivities quiet down and more and more elves prepare to leave. Music begins to fade out. “You will spend time with your mother before she leaves?”

Felix makes a noise of agreement. “She leaves in the morning, so I should.”

“Go on then.” Minho jerks his head back as the harp stops playing. “You will both be glad.”

“What about you?” Felix frowns, leaning against Minho. “What will you do?” His hair is gently ruffled.

“I will stay and watch the sunrise.”

“Sunsets,” Felix murmurs, that old, blue silence pressing against his ribs. 

“Hm?”

“You used to stay out to watch sunsets.” Something catches in Minho’s throat - like a laugh he just can’t quite commit to and something heavier at the same time. In the end, he just sighs, tilting his head up to the sky.

“So I did, Felix.” Softly, teetering on the verge of emotion that Minho does not wear, it is whispered like childhood secrets during a sleepover. “So I did.”

_The world is pale pink in the twilight, giving everything a rosy, healthy glow. Hyunjin stands on the edge of a cliff, stares into the dark, endless void past it. The edge of the world? No… surely there is no such thing. But Hyunjin can see nothing else around him, just barren rock behind him and emptiness out ahead. If he squints hard enough, he thinks he can make out stars, but that might just be the dizziness from the squinting. So he widens his eyes again and blinks the fuzziness away._

_Now he walks, follows the edge, because what else can he do? This is too peaceful, too boring. There must be something he has to find. He_ wants _there to be, doesn’t just want to look out past the world. The sky begins to lighten as he walks along, but it feels slow, like time is wrong. It trickles like honey; viscous. Hyunjin feels as though he’s fighting to swim through it. And still the sun doesn’t rise._

 _Finally,_ finally _, Hyunjin sees something: someone standing on the very edge of the cliff. Just the slightest push would send them tumbling down. Even before he really has a chance to register the clothes, and though this person’s hair is jet black like Hyunjin’s own, implicitly he knows it’s Minho._

_Minho should be able to hear him coming, should be aware of his presence by now, but if he is, he makes no indication. He stares off towards the far stars, a gentle wind blowing through his hair and cape. While the rest of his clothes are the white, gold, and silver getup he’d been in when he’d first arrived, the cape is now gold as well, rather than red like it should be. He’s waiting, Hyunjin realizes. For what he doesn’t know, but he knows Minho is waiting._

_“Minho,” he calls out when he’s less than a foot away. Only now does Minho turn to him, blindfold and all, a content smile breaking out over his features. He steps away from the edge and towards Hyunjin._

_“Hyunjin,” he returns in kind. Their heads are pressed together for a moment. “I have been waiting for you.”_

_“For me?” Hyunjin cocks his head. Minho nods once, slowly._

_“I stayed for you. Like I promised.” His smile fades and there’s a long silence. Hyunjin dares not even breathe. He and Minho just face each other, Hyunjin unable to find words and Minho not even searching. Then Minho’s head drops and the corners of his mouth pull into a line of regret, only for a moment._

_“I cannot do this.” Minho says quietly, stepping away from Hyunjin._

_“Wait-” Hyunjin reaches for him, but Minho backs away faster and Hyunjin’s fingers close on air. He pursues him nonetheless._

_“I can stay no longer.”_

“The edge!” _Hyunjin wants to scream, but Minho spreads his arms just as he reaches it and all too suddenly does Hyunjin realize what’s happening._

_“No!” He shouts, lunging forward as Minho tips back. His hand wraps tightly around Minho’s wrist, but not quickly enough; Minho dangles over the edge, held only by Hyunjin, and Hyunjin is nearly pulled over as well. He digs his feet in, uses all the might he can to stay on the ground. Minho’s hand wraps around Hyunjin’s arm as well, but he hangs like a dead weight. The blindfold slides off, flutters like a golden butterfly as the wind tears it away from Minho. It reveals wide, infinite eyes, empty as the void around him._

_“Minho, hold on.” Hyunjin’s every muscle strains as he tries to pull Minho back up. It feels like a useless battle. Minho releases his hold. “Hold on!” Hyunjin snaps, frantic._

_“Let me go,” Minho says almost blankly. He continues to stare at Hyunjin. Foreign exhaustion is written in every line on his face, like Minho has finally burned out. “This is futile. You cannot save me.”_

_“I_ can _,” Hyunjin asserts, but it doesn’t sound as sure as he wants it too. Already he can feel his own grasp weakening, can feel Minho slipping from his desperate fingers. His face grows hot (from strain, he tells himself) and tears stream down his face._

_“Let me go, Hyunjin.” Minho smiles again, as though he isn’t moments from death. “I promise I will be all right.” Instead, Hyunjin braces his muscles and tries to pull Minho up. Dirt and rocks slide beneath him and his shoulders and back burn with too much effort. Minho never stops watching him._

_“Please.” His fingers tap gently at Hyunjin’s arm. “You will only hurt yourself like this.”_

_Hyunjin’s grip fails._

_He grasps for empty air and watches in horror as Minho falls. Time returns to her impossibly slow pace. Minho falls back first, arms outstretched and peace etched into his face._

_The sun breaks the horizon and Minho is awash in the first rays of daylight. His cape flies up around him and in the light becomes useless, golden wings._

_His mouth moves._

_“Thank you.”_

_Hyunjin screams. He’s never felt more sick._

“Hyunjin!” 

He comes to with his mouth open, a pained scream tearing at his throat, and his heart trying to beat out of his chest. Hands on his shoulders, concern bleeding through, and tiny sparks of warm sun skittering through his veins to his chest. Hyunjin’s eyes dart around until they fall on Minho’s face above him. The blindfold is still what greets him, sending a lurch of fear into Hyunjin’s throat and cutting off the scream. Before he even realizes he’s doing it, his hand is ripping it away. 

The two of them are silent in that moment aside from Hyunjin’s panicked breathing. Minho stares at him with wide eyes, but they’re full to the brim with confusion and worry and the sunlight that they catch from the noon sun. 

“It was just a dream,” Minho reassures him. Hyunjin throws his arms around Minho’s neck nonetheless, grounds himself in reality. “You are all right, Hyunjin.” He returns the embrace, rubbing a hand on Hyunjin’s back soothingly. “I will not let anything hurt you.”

“Are _you_ all right?” Hyunjin whispers into Minho’s tunic. 

“I am.” Hyunjin’s fingers tighten against the fabric. “I promise.”

“You won’t leave, right?” He can only hope it doesn’t tremble as much as he does. “You’ll stay?” Minho’s shoulders slump in an exhale.

“I said I would, did I not?”

“Promise?” Minho pulls his head away and looks at Hyunjin with something he can’t place.

“Hyunjin…” 

“You said your promise is your bond.” Hyunjin swallows thickly. “Please, Minho.”

“Do not ask me to do that,” Minho pleads. 

“So you intend to break it?” Hyunjin releases Minho, an ache in his heart. “Then why did you-”

“I do not intend to break it.”

“It’s just a promise,” Hyunjin says softly. 

“I would do almost anything for you, Hyunjin-” 

“But you won’t do this.”

“- so I beg you not to ask of me that which I _cannot_.”

“But _why?”_ Hyunjin presses, searching Minho’s face desperately. “Why can't you? Why won't you? You say that you will stay, but you refuse to promise. What am I supposed to think other than what you never meant it in the first place?"

“You do not understand.”

“How can I when you don’t _tell_ me anything?” At this, Minho blinks in surprise.

“I tell you things.”

“Minho, I don’t know anything about you!” Hyunjin grabs for his hand, but Minho pulls away. He seems honestly perplexed by this.

“You do not need to know about me.” He furrows his brow.

“For Sun’s sake, I _want_ to!” Hyunjin’s palm hurts where his nails dig into the flesh, even through the cloth in his hand. He spars purposefully this time and Minho visibly falters. Hyunjin strikes while the iron is hot. “How do you not see that? I want to know you and understand you. Let me, Minho.” The silence that follows is long and tense. Minho’s eyes drop, and Hyunjin can practically see the sword he’s leveled at Minho’s chest. Then he looks up and swallows. Minho faces Hyunjin head on.

“Your parents request your presence for lunch.” A sword is raised to Hyunjin’s throat now. The accursed distance Minho keeps between them has increased with the threat of blood. The blade may have already cut Hyunjin for the sharp sting of betrayal that trickles down his neck to bloom like a gilded flower in his ribs. 

“Fine.” Hyunjin swings his legs out of bed, not even bothering to put shoes on. Pushing past Minho, he grabs an undershirt from where it’s hung on his folding screen and stalks out into the hall. 

“Your parents-” Felix has to step back to avoid being run into. Hyunjin barely pays him any mind.

“I know.”

“Hyunjin, your clothes,” Felix calls after him, trying to sound stern. Hyunjin’s fist tightens, and only then does he realize he’s still clutching Minho’s golden cloth. The metal sun presses against his fingers. For a moment, he swears it burns like the real thing. 

“I don’t give a damn about my clothes,” he snaps, jamming the cloth into his pocket and continuing towards the dining room. No one follows him.

(“What did you say? Felix asks when Minho emerges from the room a few seconds later.

“I think it is more about what I did not.” Minho sighs, watching Hyunjin’s shrinking figure.

“You should tell him the truth, Minho. I know you have your reasons, but… He won’t be angry forever, but he will be hurt.”

“Omission of truth is not a lie.” This time, it’s Felix who sighs. 

“Fix this,” is all he says. “Do it however you choose, but fix it.”)

For nearly a week, Minho hangs back, following Hyunjin dutifully and silently, like a shadow. His very person feels muted, as if always at the periphery, but never close enough to really be aware of. He even keeps back from Felix after Hyunjin sees them together and sends both of them a withering glare of hurt on the first day after the argument. 

When Felix finds Minho a few nights later, long after Hyunjin has gone to bed, still standing guard like he usually does, he asks why he had backed down. 

“It is not fair for him to be upset at you just because of me,” Minho tells him. Felix wonders then what Minho will do if Hyunjin finds out that Felix really is hiding things from him. That the Minho Felix knows - knew - is the one that Hyunjin desperately wants to see. Can Minho protect him from that?

(Perhaps it is just Felix’s cross to bear. Perhaps Minho doesn’t have the answers to everything.)

“Talk to him,” Felix insists, voice low. Tonight, the moon is not visible and so the usually blue hallway is dark.

“He is still angry.” Minho flips a dagger in his hand, not even bothering to look at the blade. He’s been favoring his right hand recently, despite his consistent preference for his left in the moons prior.

“I think he’ll be angry until you clear things up, honestly.”

“A simple apology will not be enough, will it?”

“Probably not.” Felix shrugs. “Would it really kill you to tell him what I know?”

“Who knows?” Minho laughs, but it’s hollow. “I do not know who I am really doing this for anymore. I said it was for him, but maybe I am the one who does not want to live in my reality. I suppose I have always had trouble with that.” He mistimes his catch and the dagger slices his fingers and palm. Minho clicks his tongue sharply as it falls to the carpeted floor and examines his hand, but makes no move to heal it. Though cuts are shallow, blood still runs down his fingers. 

“Do you want me to-”

“Do not bother.” As Felix watches, the skin slowly stitches itself together. Minho stares at his hand, lips pressed together. “I should know better - I do - but somehow I am still just as foolish as I used to be.” He clearly isn’t talking about the dagger, but Felix can think of nothing to say to such suddenly bitter words. “I will talk to Hyunjin. He is the least frightening thing to face.”

"Here." Hyunjin fumbles to catch his sword as Minho throws it to him. They're on the green, Hyunjin lightly hitting at a straw practice dummy in the afternoon sun. The green leaves of the forest are beginning to turn fiery, splashed in red and orange and yellow. The air is pleasantly cool, as it will probably remain for most of the season. 

"What do you want?" He huffs. Unless it's absolutely necessary, they haven't exactly been on speaking terms. Part of Hyunjin is glad for the distance, frustrated at Minho's mere presence. Part of him, the part that always seems to win out, misses when silence had been comfortable rather than tense and forced. 

"I want to spar," Minho says pleasantly, unsheathing his own sword and tilting it in the light. Hyunjin will admit, as fine as his sword is (fit for a prince, of course), that he envies Minho's blade. It is perfectly crafted and elegantly carved, strong but light all at once, with steel so pale it feels almost otherworldly. Minho had once called it _star-steel_ , the same metal that all the most storied Elvish blades had been made of. Hyunjin had wanted to call his bluff - star-steel is so rare and sparse that even a dagger would be a difficult find and would cost a fortune - but Minho hadn't even remotely seemed to be joking. He had let Hyunjin test it out a few times, and even the biggest skeptic would be hard pressed to deny that there is something special about it.

"I figured you might want to hit me," Minho continues, voice still light. "Or try to, I guess. Thought it might make you feel better."

"I don't want to hit you," Hyunjin frowns. Nonetheless, he unsheathes his sword. 

"I did say try." Minho raises his blade so it points at Hyunjin and stares down it, raising a brow and giving him an infuriatingly cocky smirk. "Getting your anger out on me will feel much better than the dummy." 

"I'm not angry." His first swing says otherwise - a rather hard one he knows Minho will block with hardly an effort. "And I'm really not sure one could tell you two apart."

"Touché." Minho laughs. The sound gives Hyunjin relief he didn't know he wanted. The ringing of swords fills the air for several minutes. In all honesty, Minho is kind of right. It does make Hyunjin feel a little better, even if only because it distracts him. 

"I am sorry," Minho says after a few minutes. Hyunjin only just hears it through another blocked attack and forgets to parry until it's too late and Minho has disarmed him. He raises his hands in surrender, and Minho puts down his arm so Hyunjin can retrieve his sword. 

Hyunjin always plays the more offensive role in their sparring, yet Minho, who only attacks efficiently, always feels like the one guiding the fight. And he always wins. This round, though their roles don't change, Hyunjin feels for the first time as though he has the upper hand. 

Their swords clash.

"I was born here."

Parry.

"My parents died when I was young." 

Strike.

"It was too hard for me."

Parry. 

"I was lonely." 

Dodge.

"Everything hurt."

Strike.

"I bore it until I could not."

Lunge. 

"I ran away." 

Clash.

"It still hurt."

Parry.

"I was still alone."

Lunge. 

"But I found a new family."

Strike. 

"And I changed." 

Parry.

"The hurt was stowed away."

Strike. 

"I became happy."

Clash.

"I trained."

Strike. 

"I traveled."

Parry. 

"I came here again." 

Minho does not block this time when Hyunjin strikes. He stands there with his arms at his sides, smiling contentedly at Hyunjin as if there isn't a razor sharp edge inches from his throat. 

"I am happy here. In this realm, this kingdom. With Felix. With you. Even with all the pain it has brought me, part of me has never been able to stop loving it. Sometimes I wish things were different, but I think it is the impossibility that makes me so fond." Minho sighs softly and his smile fades into something regretful and hesitant. "I cannot promise I will stay forever; I should never have implied that. But, for as long as I physically am able to, I will stay. This I promise."

Hyunjin just stands there, trying to catch his breath and process everything, head echoing with everything Minho has said. 

“You let me win,” is what he ends up coming up with, removing his sword from Minho’s neck. Minho just grins and shrugs at him. 

“But do you feel better?” Rather than answer, Hyunjin steps forward to close the gap between them and gingerly hugs Minho. 

“Thank you,” he says softly. “For everything.” A tiny flame of guilt burns at the tip of his tongue, an apology he feels he should make for a reason unknown. He swallows it down. When he pulls away, Hyunjin fishes the aureate headband from his pocket where it has lived since he tore it from Minho’s eyes. Carefully, he ties it around Minho’s head for him before stepping back with a small smile and a satisfied nod.

A sudden, sharp screech rings out around them, cutting right to bone. Hyunjin whips his head around, but Minho looks up to the sky much more purposefully. The sound is unlike anything Hyunjin has heard in the forest. 

“What is that?” He asks when it comes again, fingers tightening around his hilt.

“A hawk.” Minho’s eyes are narrowed, staring into the distance. 

“We have hawks here. They don’t sound like that.”

“That is because it is a Redtail. They live to the west.”

“The west?” Minho nods. “Then what’s it doing here?”

“I do not know…” The lines in Minho’s face turn more tight, minute tension in his jaw. “They say Redtails either bring good luck or misfortune.”

“How do we know what this one has?” Hyunjin scans the sky as well, but he sees no bird in the bright blue. For a long minute Minho is silent.

“We do not.” 

Brisk wind sends a few leaves dancing in the air and cups their cheeks with chilly hands. The cold sinks right into their skin and Hyunjin is suddenly very, _very_ glad for Minho.

  
  
  


For a while, nothing really comes of it. The hawk screeching continues, but nothing in particular happens in the kingdom. Life continues much as it has and Hyunjin and Felix become wrapped up in a discussion on the trade of iron within the Forest. It turns into a near constant debate at assemblies: the need for it, the reserves they have, the price, the quality, so on and so forth. 

“There will always be a need.” Felix is pretty sure he has reiterated this point at least a hundred times in the past moon. “We may not be a war-faring people, but we are a martial one. And even if we are at peace for millenia, the world will involve us in its wars. Men have certainly never had any qualms about it. And the Kingdom Beneath the Stars shows that we are not so above conflict as we like to think.” And with nearly elf in the room carrying some sort of weapon, it is difficult to deny the way iron has tied itself to their culture.

"The Kingdom Beneath the Clouds is unhappy with the current arrangements," one of the king's advisors argues. "They are forgetting their place within the Forest. How can we make a show of strength if we rely on them?"

"As it stands, we don't have much choice with them," Hyunjin says, staring at the map laid out in the center of the table. "They control all foreign exports. And since there are no mines within the four kingdoms…" 

"The Men have mines," someone across the table pipes up. 

"Men?" Minhyun scoffs. "We do not trade with Men. I would rather rely on the Kingdom Beneath the Clouds." 

"Perhaps we _should_ consider other options…" The queen exchanges a look with the king, one that speaks of more than is being discussed. 

"What do we have to offer them?" Hyunjin asks with a frown. "At least the Kingdom Beneath the Clouds needs amaranth. You yourselves insist that we cannot be indebted to others for our own safety." 

"That is true." The queen drums her fingers on the table. "Seokwoo." 

"Yes, Your Majesty?" Minhyun's advisor looks up from a notebook he's been writing in, quill poised and ready. 

"Your father is a metalsmith, is he not?" 

"He is." 

"And you have considerable knowledge about metal?" 

Seokwoo glances around the table. "Compared to most everyone here, I would say so, yes." 

"I'm putting you in charge of looking into the option of trading with Men. I would like a report as soon as possible." 

"Of course, Your Majesty." 

The decision is met with considerably mixed opinions among the council. Felix is willing to entertain the thought, while Hyunjin sees little wrong with the way things have always been. He leaves the assembly grumbling. 

"It's about balance, I think," Felix explains as the two of them search the library for a text on horse ailments. Kkami has been especially moody as of it, ears back almost constantly and biting anyone who gets too close. Even Hyunjin has been nipped, and he's the one elf Kkami has ever taken a shine to. 

"The Forest is balanced." Hyunjin pulls at a book. "You think he's hurt his leg? He tried to throw me the other day when I got on." 

"I think he's just bad tempered." Hyunjin gives Felix an unimpressed look. "You checked his legs, anyway. You said he didn't seem like he was in pain at all, and you're pretty in tune with stuff like that." 

"Yeah." He pushes the book back into place and continues down the shelf. "I mean, eventually something will tip the scales, but for now, things are working." 

"I guess." Felix shrugs. "Or maybe they're not and we don't realize. Your parents seemed pretty keen on looking into trading with Men, and they have nearly two millennia of life experience on us." He zeros in on a book just above Hyunjin's head. "Try _Natural Remedies for a Happy Horse._ Kkami's happiest when he's eating, right?" 

"Aren't we all?" 

"Anyway, I think diversifying isn't a bad idea. I read about it ages ago, and it's a smart principle." He looks at Hyunjin, eyes scanning the pages of the book. "You stopped listening, didn't you?" 

"No, no," Hyunjin says in the vague way that really means _of course I did._ "Reading, principles. I've got it." 

"You'd listen if I was Minho," Felix accuses teasingly. 

"What about me?" Both of them nearly leap clean out of their skin at the voice. 

"Why do you do that?" Felix clutches his chest. 

"Honestly? I find it funny." Minho grins at them, a playfully devilishly spark in his eye. 

“Where have you been then?” Hyunjin asks. “I looked for you after the meeting, but you vanished.”

“I was checking on Kkami, like you asked.” Minho crouches, tilting his head to read the spine of a book. 

“He didn’t bite you, did he?” 

“No, he rather seems to like me.” The loud cracking of joints accompanies Minho as he stands and he makes a face at the sound. “At any rate, physically he is fine.”

“I told you-” Felix flicks Hyunjin’s neck lightly, “- he’s just bad tempered.” Hyunjin thunks the book on top of his head and sticks out his tongue in response. 

“Animals are smart,” Minho continues, chewing on his lip. “They have a sense for things that we do not.”

There’s a long pause. 

“And that means what for us? Hyunjin prompts. 

“Hm?” Minho blinks and shakes his head quickly, as though he’s trying to dislodge something. “I do not know; it is not like I can ask Kkami.”

“What do you think of the queen’s decision, Minho?” Felix, sensing they’ve reached a dead-end, cuts in.

“Does it matter what I think?” Minho’s finger traces the script along the spine of another book, rubbing his fingertips together as he gathers a thin layer of dust. He’s angled himself so that they only see him in profile and something about him is suddenly different, though they cannot pinpoint what it is. 

“It’s unlikely to change anything.” Felix shrugs. “But it does to us.” The air in the library grows tense and cold. 

“I am not fond of Men.” It is careful, as though Minho is walking a tightrope. “I see little reason we should involve them in our affairs, or give them any sort of power over us.” Sharp as his voice has become, something is held back. Despite his sentiment, it feels like Minho is trying to sound almost pleasant.

Failing, but trying. 

His hand rubs at his ribs, a frown heavy on his face as it comes to rest over them. Then he looks over to Hyunjin and Felix and sighs tiredly. The weariness ushers in a dimness not usually seen in Minho’s eyes.

“Nevermind. I am sure your parents know best, Hyunjin. If your mother wants to give them a chance, then you should too.” It is impossible to ignore the bitterness that Minho so valiantly attempts to hide. It’s the old sort of bitterness, dulled down by years and worn into something clean and polished and easy to bite back and bury in one’s heart. But it’s also the ugly kind - the type that, on occasions that it comes to light, is revealed for the grudge that it is. 

Even when he searches for it, Felix finds nothing like it in the Minho who lives in his memory. Something in his chest sinks and settles like a thick layer of silt the longer he thinks about it, the longer he finds only the determined, carefree happiness that he had grown up admiring. It hurts more than it probably should.

When Hyunjin is summoned for dinner and Minho makes for the archery green, Felix follows him. These days, the darkness comes ever earlier and so they are illuminated by the soft glow of lantern light. Though Minho must know he has a shadow, he doesn’t say anything even when they reach the green, just turns suddenly and raises a questioning brow at Felix. They hold eye contact for a quiet minute; Minho waits for Felix to speak and Felix tries to accept that which he knows.

“You’ve changed,” he finally says, voice soft. 

“Yes, so you have said.” Minho sighs. “And so have you. We have been over this.”

“But not like…” The brightness Felix now sees, the sparkle in Minho’s eyes that he had been so sure he recognized… it is time that he acknowledge that they are not those that he remembers. It had been gentleness and resolute hope that Felix had known; innocence. But that is long gone from the Minho that stands before him. The Minho who had killed without a second thought. The Minho whose eyes had turned so, so dim. Now still, the shadows remain, sunk beneath his eyes and pressed in like ink. “Not like you.”

“Like me,” Minho echoes. His eyes narrow a little. “Do you really think I could have stayed like that, Felix?”

“You were bright,” Felix murmurs.

“Bright?” It edges towards a laugh.

“Happy.”

“I am happy now,” Minho tells him stiltedly. 

“Not like you were.” This time, Minho laughs for real, but not like Felix has said something funny. His laugh is thin and hurt.

“Do you really think I was?” The hurt seeps into his eyes.

 _“Sad little thing,”_ Felix’s mother had called him. Felix had found it odd, but thought it was just because she had not liked Minho. After all, around Felix, Minho had always been smiling and almost bubbly.

Hadn’t he?

Minho makes a hard swallow. “All the things they called me: bad luck, bad influence, bad omen, a curse… Do you know how much it hurt? As if everything was my fault. How could it be my fault? Do you think that I wanted the memory of my parents dying burned so deeply into me that I still see it to this day? Do you know how long I blamed myself for it because I was the one who wanted to go to the river? How much I _believed_ the things everyone said about me? For Sun’s sake, I thought I deserved it! I thought I deserved the loneliness I lived with!” Minho’s voice is ragged with desperation. “I could not bear it, Felix! It hurt, it always hurt! I knew what everyone thought of me; how I was weak. Nothing. No one. And they were right; I was just a sad, foolish elfling, searching for a future that even I could not see.”

“That's not- you weren't- You had a dream,” Felix says weakly, voice shaking. His face grows hot. “We… we had our promise.” He had _seen_ the hope in Minho’s eyes, the way it had shone like stars. Minho had wanted, so much so that even as a child Felix had felt that desperate ache in Minho’s heart though he could not understand it. Even if he’d been the best actor in the world, that hadn’t been fake. It couldn’t have been.

“I used to tell myself that it would all be all right one day,” Minho continues with bitterness so sharp it cuts Felix’s skin. “For a while, I think I may have even believed it.” He sneers. “But I was not fooling anyone, and they made sure I knew it. When my fallacy was broken, I saw nothing for myself. I thought I would die, Felix.”

The bruise on his cheek, the scraped knuckles. Empty eyes and bloody fingers. Tired. So tired.

 _“If this is all there is…”_ It had been barely audible and so hollow that it had actually scared Felix. _“I’ll die.”_

Felix had been young. He hadn’t really understood and certainly didn’t know what to say. He remembers a weak attempt at a laugh, like Minho had just been making a joke. To him, it hadn’t been serious. _“Don’t say that.”_

 _“Yongbok.”_ Glass moments from shattering, held together only by some power of will Felix had never known the source of. _“I’ll_ die.” 

As much as the voice had shook, Minho never broke. Maybe if he had, Felix would have understood. 

“Minho-”

“I wanted to,” Minho whispers. He looks anywhere except at Felix. “I really thought I did. Die or run away. What else could someone like me do? The only thing that stopped me was you. You were the only elf who saw anything in me.” Without even thinking about it, Felix steps forward and pulls Minho into a tight hug. He can feel Minho trembling in his arms. 

“At first I was happy so that you would be too; I could not bear to see you turn your back on me like everyone else. Then I was happy just because I had you. I never wanted to hurt you.” Though Minho has held himself together, like he always does, Felix has to blink tears from his eyes. 

“You didn’t hurt me,” Felix whispers against Minho’s collar. “You could never have hurt me.”

“I could not stay how I was.” It’s heavy and almost, _almost_ sad, whispered into air so fragile the weight of it is nearly too much. Beatdown and weary, like Minho has spent his whole life running only to finally give up. “Perhaps if I was the elf in your memories, but never as the elf in mine. Forget that that was me, Felix. I am glad everyone else did.”

“I forgot you once. I’m not going to forget you again.” 

Minho is quiet longer than Felix might want him to be. “I am sorry,” he eventually murmurs.

Felix pushes aside the niggling thoughts that clamor for his attention. What had finally broken in Minho the day he’d left? Surely he could not fake innocence? How had Felix never noticed that Minho hadn’t been as happy as he seemed? Why - of all elves - is _Minho_ sorry?

“I really am.”

He never says what he’s apologizing for. Felix hopes that when he hugs Minho tighter he understands that there is no need for it. 

(He wishes that, in the past, he would have hugged Minho harder.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you comment I will love you forever ;-;


	7. vii. sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _no matter how much you hide it, you know you can't hide it forever_ \- seventeen, hug
> 
> _you said you wanted to believe me, but now you say that you can't and that i forced you to believe_ \- 3racha, cloud 9
> 
> _all the truths i believed covered me in falsehoods_ \- dreamcatcher, deja vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: blood, injury, kidnapping, death, all around bad/creepy vibes in the flashback (as always if you feel that there's something I should add please let me know; the flashback in particular is kind of heavy)

“You didn’t tell me Seungmin’s family was coming,” Hyunjin whines to his parents as they wait beneath a bland, gray sky. For the first time, he has had to wear his thicker cloak, an unwelcome reminder that winter is creeping up on them. 

“It’s been a hectic few weeks,” his mother says in apology. “Think of it as a nice surprise amidst all the stress.” Truthfully, Hyunjin had never known just how much there was to be said about iron. Nor how much of a threat the Kingdom Beneath the Clouds is to the peace within the Forest. Until now, he has thought little of them, never really seeing them as a kingdom of much importance, but after so many days spent in the middle of passionate debates, he can’t stop thinking about their king, trying to strongarm his kingdom into a new power.

Elves should not covet. Not money. Certainly not power.

Greed makes Hyunjin’s skin crawl, brings him shame even though it is not his own. 

He, and even Minhyun, once the most unsure of anyone, agree that trading with Men should be looked into, weighing their shared unease of both situations over a sparring match until they had come to the same conclusion. Men, they decide, are less of a threat than Elves. 

“Seungmin and his family are here for conferences,” Hyunjin’s father reminds gently. “Keep that in mind, Hyunjinnie.”

“This is important.” Hyunjin nods, running his thumbs across frigid knuckles. Tiny figures in the distance grow ever larger; gray and white horses, riders cloaked in rich, royal blue. Amongst the fiery colors of the damp forest and the dark day, the scene is a dreary sort of pretty. “I know. Don’t worry.” Behind Seungmin’s horse - uniquely recognizable with a blood mark down her shoulder - Hyunjin swears for a moment that he sees Soonie. It’s impossible, he knows that, but the horse is an identical gold and Hyunjin has never seen another like that before.

The horse is forgotten, however, the minute Seungmin’s feet touch the earth and he and Hyunjin make eye contact. Seungmin sends him one of his wide, happy smiles and Hyunjin can’t help but to respond in kind. The smile stays even during the formal greeting between the two families.

Long before Felix, Hyunjin had Seungmin.

Their kingdoms have always been on good terms, and their parents good friends, so they have visited each other almost every year since birth. In the years they have not - and just in general - they frequently write. But Hyunjin has received nothing in several moons, the longest delay in as far as he can remember, and so seeing Seungmin again soothes a worry he hadn’t realized had lived in his heart.

“It is good to see you again,” he says as the two carefully press their heads together, gentle so their crowns do not hurt each other. Seungmin’s glitters with sharp, iridescent gems, meant to mimic snow and ice. The first time the two had greeted each other like this, he had scratched Hyunjin’s forehead, and since then, ever conscious, he takes great care not to.

“Likewise.” Seungmin’s eyes turn to crescents for a moment. “I’ve missed you, Hyunjin.” He stretches his arms above his head as they enter the palace. “I always forget how warm it is here. Moon above, I’m sweltering.” He tugs at his fur lined cloak, and Hyunjin can see the flushed skin of his neck. Fur sticks to sweat as Seungmin tugs it off and he gives Hyunjin a once over. “How you’re wearing that is beyond me.”

“Some of us aren’t used to the cold,” Hyunjin reminds him, rolling his eyes. 

“It’s already snowing back home.” Knowing Seungmin, that could either be a brag or a complaint. “You should come in the winter next year; you haven’t seen snow in what? A decade?”

“At least.” Hyunjin sighs wistfully, glancing out the window at the gray sky. “I’m holding out hope for this year.”

“You’ll have to tell me if you get any.” Seungmin hits him lightly in the arm. “You’ve got to try honey and snow.”

“Why would I eat snow? It’s just water.”

“It tastes different,” Seungmin insists. “You can put all sorts of stuff on it. We have it all the time.”

“One would not think you a prince if they heard that,” Hyunjin snorts.

“For once I can be the one to say that you’re just no fun.” Seungmin sticks his tongue out at Hyunjin. “No Humour Hyunjin.”

“Okay, Stick In The Mud Seungmin.”

“No Humour Hyunjin sounds better.”

“Does it though?” Hyunjin grins at Seungmin. “We shall see which epithet history favors.” As though they’ve planned it, both of them look towards the courtyard and the statues of heroes of old. Like this, Hyunjin sees something peek from the edge of Seungmin’s high collar, as if a pine needle has caught in it. But Hyunjin is not so naive.

“What happened?” He asks softly, tugging at the fabric a bit. Seungmin tilts his head away, probably to discourage Hyunjin, but only ends up revealing more skin. Even still, only a fraction of the jagged red line is visible against the taut skin and Hyunjin’s brows furrow deep, eyes searching Seungmin’s face with concern.

“Ah, it’s…” Seungmin rubs the back of his head, a sheepish sort of half smile weakly tugging at his mouth, “it’s nothing really. It looks worse than it is.”

“Seungmin?” Hyunjin wins a fight they do not have as Seungmin gives him a resigned sort of look and pulls his tunic down over his shoulder to reveal the extent of the scar, which traces a shaky diagonal line all the way to his shoulder. 

“Oh.” It’s soft, barely audible. Hyunjin almost wants to reach out, but he stops himself, just gives Seungmin a pained look. 

“Scars are cool, right?” Seungmin tries as he pulls his collar back up.

“Getting them isn’t.”

“Yeah…” Seungmin sighs, a finger running along the raised skin on his neck. “I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. _Hey, I almost died! So how have you been_? just… didn’t feel like a good starting point. And I haven’t been able to think about much else since then.”

“No, don’t apologize.” Hyunjin takes Seungmin’s hand gently and squeezes it. “I’m just glad you’re all right. No one could blame you for not being able to write.” He gives Seungmin a careful hug. “Thank Sun you’re alive, Seungmin.”

“Best thank my bodyguard for that,” Seungmin mumbles. “If not for him then I doubt I would be.”

“Bodyguard?” Hyunjin asks as he drops his arms and looks at Seungmin with a renewed sense of how much he means to him. The reminders of other elves’ mortality, especially those precious to him, is more frightening than even his own. Seungmin nods and swallows with sudden effort, blinking a few times rapidly. 

“He nearly died.” Seungmin’s voice is soft, but heavy with the weight of an unwelcome memory. There’s a distant look in his eyes, and Hyunjin has no doubt that the image of his bodyguard nearly dying is seared into his eyes, just as the image of Minho with an arrow through his chest is seared into Hyunjin’s. But Minho had been perfectly fine when Hyunjin had come to; he can’t even imagine what it would be like to see anything else. “By all accounts he should have. It’s a miracle he did not.” He gives a breath of laughter, grim smile settling on his face as he shakes the far away look off. “Honestly, I think he took it all better than I did.” From the corner of Hyunjin’s eye, he spots movement. Seungmin’s gaze too travels away from Hyunjin’s face, down the hall instead. 

It’s Minho, walking briskly towards them with expectant excitement sparkling in his eyes and a barely contained smile about to burst from his cheeks. Hyunjin raises an arm to wave, smile of his own breaking across his face, but he realizes that Minho isn’t even looking at him. Rather, he seems to take pause and search the hall, glancing towards the door, as if looking for someone else, head tilting in confusion when no one is there.

“You too?” Seungmin asks, nudging Hyunjin gently. 

“Hm?” Hyunjin raises a brow at him. How does Seungmin know? He just gets a shake of Seungmin’s head, like it’s just something silly. 

“Minho,” Hyunjin calls. This does earn him attention and Minho looks at him with widened eyes, waiting for instruction. “Come here a minute.” He does, though with far less urgency or excitement than before. Minho gives Seungmin a once over, eyes lingering on his scar and pursing his lips into a tiny frown, just for a moment. Seungmin tugs at his collar to hide the tail of it and gives Minho an equal frown, though there is something curious in his eyes as well, a thoughtful look of sorts. 

“Minho, this is Seungmin, Prince Beneath the Moon.” 

Minho hums and gives Seungmin a nod. “I know who he is. It is good to formally meet you, Prince Seungmin.”

“Seungmin, this is Minho, my bodyguard.”

“An honor to meet you,” Seungmin says with ingrained courtesy. “Have we met before?” He tilts his head up, a critical eye on Minho. “I swear that I have seen you.”

“We have not met.” Minho smiles politely. “Not exactly.” Both Seungmin and Hyunjin give him bizarre looks because what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?

“I’d introduce you to mine,” Seungmin continues, addressing Hyunjin, though continuing to give Minho a weird look, “but he’s taking care of the horses. You’ll meet him later. 

Hyunjin nods in understanding. “Shall we continue to the gardens? Some of us are lucky enough to still have flowers.”

“Rub it in why don’t you?” Seungmin ribs, prepared to lead the way. Minho, after some hesitation, trails a few steps behind the pair. “That reminds me.” Seungmin reaches for a dagger strapped to his leg and pulls it, causing Minho to step forward in alarm before Hyunjin puts out a hand to stop him. The dagger is presented to him handle first, Seungmin delicately holding the sharp blade between his fingers. “A gift. Probably more useful than the cloak I gave you last time.”

“Thank you.” Hyunjin takes it and dips his head to Seungmin, turning the dagger over in his hand. It’s pure silver, without a single imperfection in the metal, with an elegant branch of snow blossoms etched into it, bursting from the hilt to the middle of the blade. From there, petals blow towards the tapered end of the blade, as though floating on an invisible wind. “It’s beautiful.”

“It may not help much in a fight, but in a pinch, it’s better than nothing, isn’t it?” Seungmin smiles a bit. “Changbin really liked the one I gave him.”

“I like it too,” Hyunjin insists with a pout. "I like everything you give me." 

"Did you _really_ like the tunic I gave you that one year though?" 

"I-" Hyunjin can't help his grimace at the memory. That tunic is buried somewhere deep in his wardrobe, never having seen daylight other than when it had been given to him. "Blue just isn't my color."

Luckily, Seungmin laughs. "No, I get it. It was kind of ugly. I think my parents still regret hiring that tailor. But you're right." He preens a little, hands coming to gesture at his current outfit. "Blue is _my_ color. Red on the other hand… you can keep it."

"Red doesn't want you, don't worry." Hyunjin claps Seungmin on the back in consolation. "As long as we both agree that brown is the common enemy."

"I'll toast to that." Seungmin tips an invisible glass to Hyunjin. "Remind me at dinner." 

"You and I both know that your memory is far better than mine, Seungmin." Hyunjin slings an arm around his shoulder and flicks his ear as they make their way to the gardens. Seungmin’s shirt bunches under Hyunjin’s arm and the scar is hidden, like it was never even there. "With all that you've got buzzing around up there, it truly is a wonder." 

"They don't call me the sixth spectacle of the Elvish world for nothing." 

"No one is calling you that."

" _I'm_ calling me that." 

Hyunjin laughs.

"Keep that up and I'm going to ask for offerings before I impart any wisdom on you," Seungmin threatens. It's not particularly intimidating when he's fighting a grin. 

"I've missed you, Seungmin," Hyunjin sighs happily. "Never change, dear friend." 

Minho’s fingers tap against his leg the whole day. At first, with Hyunjin only shooting him looks every so often, his attention mainly drawn to Seungmin, it had seemed anxious. His eyes too, glancing around and almost never resting on Hyunjin, had felt fraught with nerves. But it’s not that, Hyunjin comes to realize as the sun breaks free from the thick gray clouds and the light turns westward, alighting on Minho’s hair like a golden crown more spectacular than Hyunjin’s. Minho is restless with anticipation rather than fear, buzzy with excitement unlike anything he’s ever shown before. 

Tempered, even Minho looks more alive than he has in ages. Though Hyunjin does not understand why, can only assume that it has something to do with Seungmin, Minho’s excitement settles like warm sunlight in his chest, chasing out the autumnal breezes that blow through. This, coupled with Seungmin’s sorely missed presence and thoughtful chatter that makes everything feel worth something, lets Hyunjin forget the stress of the past moon. Instead of the busy, tumultuous thoughts about iron and what is right and what is wrong and the relationships among kingdoms, his mind feels like a placid lake - tranquil and undisturbed. If only for this brief afternoon, before he and Seungmin will be wrapped up in discussions, he feels that same easy happiness he had when they had been elflings, back when their parents had shielded them from the burdens of the world. He collects red and orange leaves that have blown into the garden and tucks them into Seungmin’s crown, setting the ice on fire, and Seungmin returns the favor with tiny branches and white flowers, and they giggle over nothing in particular. 

It’s different. Of course it is. Hyunjin is reminded of this every time Seungmin throws back his head to laugh and his high collar cannot hide the crack in his skin. But for now, just for now, it’s the same as it once was, as he used to think it always would be. Even when they separate so that Seungmin can change before dinner, Hyunjin’s cheeks ache with a smile that refuses to slip away. He leans heavily against Minho as they head down the hall without any hurry, Minho’s hand absently supporting the back of his head and scratching his scalp gently every so often. 

“It must be nice to see Seungmin again, hm?” He asks softly.

“It is always nice to see Seungmin,” Hyunjin tells him. Felix is his best friend, that will never change. But Felix is his constant, every day of Hyunjin’s life since they met and probably every day until one of them dies. While he has been there through everything, through ups and downs, through Hyunjin’s adolescence to his adulthood, Seungmin has only been bits and pieces; tiny, happy snapshots stored carefully in Hyunjin’s memory. Seungmin will always be special, will always hold a bright place in Hyunjin’s life no matter what happens. “You are happy to see him too, no?”

“No.” Minho shrugs a little. “Not especially.”

“Really?” Hyunjin glances at Minho, eyes still lit with excitement. 

“Can I not be happy without reason?” Minho raises a brow, but unlike before, it doesn’t feel quite so much like he's forcing a distance between the two of them. 

“There’s always a reason with you, Minho,” Hyunjin says lightly, poking his forehead and causing Minho to blink in surprise.

“Does it matter?” His age old question, the one that Hyunjin has grown to hate. It always matters to him.

“Yes.” Hyunjin pouts. The tall doors to the dining room are in front of them and they separate, Minho tugging at Hyunjin’s tunic where it has become rumpled from earlier.

“I am happy,” he murmurs as Hyunjin pushes the doors open to see his parents and brother taking their seats, trailing behind barely a step, “but not because of him.” Hyunjin recognizes the tone; it is one he hears when Felix talks about his village, when he himself talks about Seungmin. It is comfort and old love, the sort that runs too deep and personal to ever really explain. 

Hyunjin does not ask Minho to. 

Nor does he have to, as Seungmin’s parents enter the room, Seungmin not far behind. And behind him, a new face. He watches Hyunjin critically, carefully, just as Hyunjin studies him. This new elf is cut from glass - all legs and sharp cheekbones, with keen eyes that Hyunjin swears have an almost deadly glint to them and a cold, hard edge for a mouth. His hair is the white gold of winter's harsh dawn, and though he's decked in the blue of the Kingdom Beneath the Moon, Hyunjin catches sight of his bow, identical to Minho's in style and design, and the gold cloth tied just above his elbow. He swears this elf glows, but it must just be the setting sun, pouring through the windows.

For all the angles he is made from, the rigid lines he fits within, he’s clearly young, more of an elfling than an adult. No elfling should wear such a serious expression, Hyunjin thinks, it isn’t right. Despite the unfriendly look very purposefully and clearly fixed on him, all Hyunjin feels is oddly sad for the elf. 

But Minho… Minho lights up, as bright as the sun. He strides over to the elf without hesitation or care, eyes nothing more than crescents and a smile that is impossible to describe. The elf’s eyes go soft as Minho’s hands cup his face gently to bring their foreheads together and though Hyunjin can make out the word _embarrassed_ as it twists in his mouth, it’s not hard to find the same sort of happiness on his face. When Minho pulls back, whispering something lost in the clamor of other greetings, Hyunjin can pinpoint the adoration, the desperate fondness with which he looks at this elf, hands gentle on his shoulders now as he gives him a once over.

(He knows even before Seungmin tells him. The way Minho had screamed like his heart was being ripped in two, the only tears he has ever shed, are too hard to forget.) 

“Jeongin,” Seungmin supplies in as the two of them finally make it to the seat beside Hyunjin. “My bodyguard.” The softness disappears as Jeongin snaps to attention, reinstating his razorlike look at Hyunjin. He has an aura about him, like Minho sometimes does, but this is even more intense and commanding.

“It’s an honor to meet you.” Hyunjin smiles at him nonetheless, hoping that his own kindness can make up for whatever preconceptions Jeongin clearly has of him. 

“Likewise,” Jeongin responds without an ounce of sincerity. Minho nudges him gently, an exasperated expression with no real weight to it on his face. Jeongin just rolls his eyes and gives Minho a flat frown. 

“How old are you?” Hyunjin tries again, genuinely curious. The long few seconds of silence and scathing glare he gets are distinctly annoyed, and Jeongin crinkles his nose in a way that would be cute if not for the fact that it quite clearly means something along the lines of _“I would rather you drop dead than have speak to you.”_

“Old enough.” His voice suits him well, tongue as sharp as the glass he is made of, answer rigid in that obstinate way that says it is the only answer Hyunjin will get.

“Hyunjin, your food.” Minho tilts his chin towards the table, eyes flicking to the plate being set in front of Hyunjin. It feels like a not so subtle insistence that Hyunjin pay attention to dinner rather than to Jeongin, like Minho has physically placed himself between the two of them despite not moving an inch. 

He’s not really sure which one of them Minho is protecting, not sure why either of them needs it. Minho just gives him a soft smile when Hyunjin looks at him in silent question. But he’s right, anyway: Hyunjin should pay attention to royal affairs and to his guest, not something so trivial as an elf who obviously dislikes him. As he turns away, he catches the way Jeongin relaxes. It stings a little bit, more so than the chilly words had, as if Hyunjin really _has_ wronged him in some way

All he wants is to get to know Jeongin - because perhaps, if he does, he can know Minho a little better - but Hyunjin is starting four steps behind the start line at this point.

He focuses on Seungmin rather than the disheartening weight that sinks in his lungs and Jeongin fades so easily into the background it feels like he was never there at all.

Dinner stretches long past sundown - more talking than eating - and long after the candles and lanterns in the room are lit does dinner finally turn into dessert and wine. This is when the merry atmosphere settles into something more grave, the time for important discussions - the sort Seungmin’s family had come to have in the first place. Gradually, guards are dismissed from the room. One by one, until only Minho and Jeongin are left. Seungmin gives little more than a glance at the door and Jeongin nods, turning on his heel to leave.

Before he does, he catches Minho by the arm, tugging him close so his lips are right against Minho’s ear. Not even Hyunjin, the closest to them, can hear what he says, so quietly does Jeongin speak - perhaps little more than mouthing it - but then he supposes that that’s the point. Minho hums in some sort of agreement, eyes trailing up to the left as he gives a short nod. Jeongin pulls away with a serious look and Minho returns it for all for two seconds before he smiles fondly and gives Jeongin’s shoulder a gentle shake.

“Go on then,” he says, poking Jeongin in the side with his free hand. “I expect I will find you shortly.” His eyes follow Jeongin all the way to the door, and even then they linger on it, smile turning down ever so slightly and a tiny knit between his brows.

“Hyunjin.” Seungmin taps Hyunjin lightly, bringing his attention to him. “Will you not dismiss Minho?” He asks, bemused. Has Hyunjin paused for so long?

“Minho.” Hyunjin clears his throat and Minho blinks, looking to him with a neutral, blank expression. “You can go.”

“As you wish.” Minho dips his head, and Hyunjin watches him leave out of the corner of his eye, expected as he is to be present in the quiet talk about iron and tariffs. There is not a single doubt in his mind that he has sent Minho right to Jeongin, but he finds that there is nothing but contentment with the knowledge. 

Hyunjin finds it hard to begrudge someone that which is precious to them.

  
  
  


Minho’s room is stark and sterile, every single thing in it as perfect in appearance as it had been before he had arrived. In the soft glow of candlelight - set though it isn’t really necessary - it seems at least a little bit more friendly, but no less empty. Only when Jeongin looks in the wardrobe does he find any indication that Minho has been here at all.

“You will not find any skeletons in there, if that is what you are searching for,” Minho’s voice fills the space cheerfully, the door closing behind him with a soft _click_. 

“As if you could hide anything from me,” Jeongin retorts, tapping the wardrobe shut with his foot. “What have you done, Minho?” He sighs, soft and lacking bite, like a soft spring breeze among new flowers. Instead of a response, he is engulfed in a hug and given Minho’s proud, fond smile, a hand stroking the hair at the back of his head gently. It almost causes him to stiffen, for fear to pool in his stomach, but then Jeongin remembers that it is Minho, and the fear vanishes before it can even come to fruition. Instead, he relaxes and has to fight to frown.

“You have been well since last I saw you?”

“You know I have been,” Jeongin huffs. “I would be better if you would not insist on moving your shoulder so much; it is like you try to.”

“Sorry.” Minho’s brows raise in apology, then pinch. “Are you all right? Being back here?” His hand stops and he searches Jeongin’s face carefully. 

“I have been before,” Jeongin reminds him, rubbing his thumb against a closed fist.

“That is not what I asked.” There is little reason for him to; Minho is aware how Jeongin feels. Nevertheless, he always does. For someone who believes in words least of all, Minho has a certain insistence on them with Jeongin, the one person with whom he truly could forgo them. 

“Because of you, it is all right. You love it enough for both of us.” The bracket-like smile Minho often makes settles on Jeongin’s lips momentarily, until he remembers something and it drops into a frown. He pushes Minho’s arm away. “I am upset with you,” he chastises. Minho laughs and shakes his head, removing his bow and quiver and sliding his cloak off his shoulder. 

“No, you are not.” He unclasps his arm guards, removes the belt his sword hangs on, and sets to work tugging his tunic over his head. Jeongin sucks in a breath as pain blooms in his own shoulder blade, like tiny rocks grinding against the muscle.

“I am. You have done something you should not; you think I did not feel it?” Minho sinks onto his bed (perfectly made, unused) and is quiet for a few seconds, smile falling away as he studies Jeongin carefully. 

“But it is not me that you are angry with,” he finally concludes, eyes following Jeongin’s own weapons as he too sheds them, freeing himself from the heavy, overbearingly hot cloak he wears. “It is Hyunjin.”

“What did you do?” Jeongin asks again. “I need to know, Minho.”

“I made a promise,” Minho murmurs, eyes dropped to his bare forearm and the scar that resides there. He runs his thumb over it. “I said I would stay as long as I possibly could.” Like this, he cannot see the way Jeongin’s chest sinks and his eyes shut, the way his head drops. He does not have to; he feels the pained resignation all the same. Icy guilt runs through him all over again, a shame and anger that belongs to a power far greater than him screaming in his head. It is only by focusing on Jeongin that he is able to drown it out, to focus on love and warmth that will not punish him. 

There’s a dip in the bed beside him. Jeongin says nothing, just splays his hand against Minho’s injured shoulder and rests it there for a minute. Warmth radiates from him, steady as the summer sun, but it’s not as intense as it usually is - as it should be - for Jeongin.

“You are still unwell?” Minho raises his head to look at Jeongin with a small frown. He shouldn’t be. It’s been moons since Minho healed him. “You should not heal me if that is the case.”

“And what about you?” Jeongin shoots back. “Your light is even weaker than mine. Because of me.” He pauses, chewing on his lip. “Because of them.” The tips of his fingers burn against Minho’s skin and Jeongin laughs ruefully. “I have never known someone to give so much of themself away as you. The trace of your light is all over Hyunjin. I imagine the other one is much the same.”

“I just want to help them,” Minho says quietly. “When they are afraid, or they cannot sleep; when they are unable to soothe their own hearts. It is unfair for them to suffer when I can so easily help.”

“They can manage on their own, just as they always have,” Jeongin sighs. “I should hope they are not so fragile that a bad dream destroys them.”

“No.” Minho’s shoulders slump. “I suppose they are not.”

“No matter how much control you have, if you keep giving bits of yourself away there will eventually be nothing left.” Jeongin’s palm grows warmer and warmer, so blissful that Minho feels all tension leave his body. Everything is warm again, in a way he desperately misses, as fire races from his shoulder blade and through his veins. It is like when he had been with Jisung, but that is nothing compared to this. “It hurts you too, does it not?” Jeongin asks quietly, like he knows the answer though he wishes he didn’t. The silence that follows is telling enough. “You are growing colder, Minho.” Sudden, fierce white heat sears through Minho, overwhelming his vision as it rekindles the slowly dying fire in his heart and soul. 

Minho’s eyes widen in panic as he realizes what Jeongin is doing.

“No!” He throws up his arm and hits Jeongin’s away. “Jeongin, stop!”

It’s too late. Even as the heat from Jeongin’s hand fades, it remains in Minho’s soul and breathes new life into his blood. Already he feels more alert, stronger than he has in ages. It isn’t like it was before, it can’t be, but it has chased away the creeping darkness that Minho has felt - and done his best to ignore - for a while now. But with rejuvenation blooms anger.

“Jeongin, why in Sun’s name would you do that?” Minho places his hands on Jeongin’s face, cups his cheeks gently despite the fire that laps at his voice. “Why would you _do_ that?”

“You gave so much of your light to heal me,” Jeongin says softly, but with conviction behind every word. “It is only right that I give you some of mine in return. That is what we do.” His fingers come to wrap around Minho’s forearm, palm pressed over the scar just as it had been the day he had given it to Minho. Beneath his right armguard, the twin mark burns like the reminder it is. He makes no move to remove Minho’s hands.

“You are already weaker than you should be.” Minho searches his face desperately. “You cannot give me your light.”

“Well, I cannot take it back.” Jeongin points out, ever the realist. “You would do the same for me. You did. I can withstand this more than you can.”

“That was different,” Minho beseeches, voice sticking in his throat. “You were hurt. I could not-”

“Sun above, then consider this purely selfish,” Jeongin huffs. “If you will not accept that I did it for you, then accept that I did it for me. It serves me just as well when you are strong.” That desperate look never leaves Minho’s face as they sit there in silence, his left thumb rubbing gentle circles into Jeongin’s cheek. His bones are more pronounced now - gone is the baby fat that had clung to him all through adolescence. But to Minho, no matter how old he gets, how much he changes, he will always remain the elfling he had been when they first met all those decades ago. They were brothers in heart long before they ever were bound in soul. Jeongin’s eyes soften.

“I have bought you time, Minho.” At the risk of cutting his own short, but neither of them mention that. “But I could only give you so much. I do not know how long you will have.”

“It does not matter.” Minho’s hands drop from his face and one returns to the back of his head, just as it had been earlier. This time, there is not even a moment of fear in Jeongin. The action is so comfortable and familiar that he wishes he could drown in it. “Anything is more than enough. Words could never thank you for all that you have done for me. I hope you know that.” Jeongin does, feels the sincerity that aches in Minho’s chest ache in his own, and hopes that Minho knows that he feels the same. Minho pulls Jeongin’s head towards his and lightly bumps their foreheads together. His hold on Jeongin’s head has no real force behind it and Jeongin knows he could pull anyway anytime he wants to, but he doesn’t. Just rests his head against Minho’s and lets the sound of their breathing fill the quiet room. 

Too many thoughts; all the things they cannot say - have not the words or the heart to - clouding their minds and hearts and swarming like a flock of birds. All gone now, buzzing in the air instead. Minho and Jeongin might not know each other’s sentiments, but they feel them as if they do. For now, it’s enough. A stilling of thoughts, even if only for this brief moment. 

“You were growing cold,” Jeongin’s voice is hardly more than a whisper, wobbling like a bowstring. Minho’s hand threads gently through his hair. Jeongin is nervous; tense even in his relaxation. Vulnerable in a way only Minho gets to see. A way he hasn’t been in sometime. His breath hitches, lips moving a mile a minute though no sound comes out.

“Jeongin.”

He doesn’t seem to hear Minho, too engrossed in the silent fears that spill from his mouth against his will.

“Jeonginnie.” 

Sometimes he falters, like the words stick to the roof of his mouth and he has forgotten how to force them out. He stops trying. Despite the rigidity that Jeongin has once again forced himself into, tiny shudders wrack his body, taking the place of his trembling lips. Whatever blooms in Minho’s chest can only be described as muddled, growing tighter and tighter by the second. He recognizes the feeling well; it isn’t so foreign to Jeongin as he likes to pretend.

“Innie,” Minho tries once more, gently. Softly. He knows no other way to use the childhood nickname Jeongin keeps so close to his heart, one that had been used by the single purveyor of love in his life until she left him, alone, to face a world far too hateful and cold. It is entrusted only to Minho. The name works, halting Jeongin’s shivers. Minho’s hand is featherlight as it falls to his shoulder, but his thumb presses into the tense muscle, kneading it to relieve some of the stiffness. Though he pulls his head back to look at Jeongin, Jeongin’s head remains bowed, eyes glued to the floor.

“Jeongin, look at me.”

“I do not want to.” Jeongin shakes his head, but stubborn defiance crumbles beneath weak conviction. The air around them is still, brittle, and Minho’s effort to relax his muscles has done nothing. He still holds himself so tensely that he visibly shakes. “What would be the point?” He asks quietly.

“Please?”

“There is no point,” he answers his own question.

“There is a point,” Minho counters. “From the eyes, reveal the heart.”

“And mine is already laid bare for you to understand, just as yours is to me. There is no _point_.” Jeongin breaks skin on his lip and a tiny, stinging pain blossoms on Minho’s. For all that they understand in silence, there will always be a time for words.

Jeongin knows this.

“Innie, come on,” Minho murmurs. He’s met with silence rather than argument this time. As carefully as if Jeongin were the most precious thing in the world, Minho runs his fingers across his cheeks. Though they’re dry, they’re hot, even for an Elf like them. Gently, he tips Jeongin’s chin up so that he has no choice but to look at Minho. “Things will turn out all right, you know? I promise,” he says quietly, but with firm assurance.

There’s a long silence that hangs between them like a flimsy bridge. Promises are dangerous, they both know this; far more than mere words. To Jeongin, Minho makes them as if they are the easiest things in the world.

“Will they?” Jeongin whispers with a hard swallow. Minho’s arms are open and around him in mere moments, burying Jeongin’s head in his neck.

“They will,” he confirms.

“But you do not know that.” Jeongin holds him fiercely, with strength that mirrors Minho’s own. He doesn’t doubt that the message in Jeongin’s embrace isn’t much different than his. “What if they do not? Minho, I… I cannot… I am…” 

_Afraid_.

Minho’s heart is torn again, like it has been every day since he made his promise to Hyunjin. He cannot recall a time that Jeongin has come so close to admitting it.

But then, neither had he. For all the childhood he remembers, the words had smoldered at the tip of his tongue, burning his mouth and scratching his throat like far too many others.

So he had made his promises to himself. That he would take care of himself, that he would become someone.

That, in the end, everything would be all right.

“I promise,” Minho tells Jeongin, just as he had once told himself. “Everything will be all right. I will make sure it is so.” Something in him aches when he says it, but not as it had when he had been little.

Maybe because this time he believes it.

Maybe because it is not for his sake anymore.

“It will hurt.” Jeongin is hugging him tighter. “You know it will hurt you. You know it will get worse.” The guilt Minho feels has nothing to do with hurting himself. If the pain were only his bear, he would not care at all. “How can that be all right?” 

Really, is he any better than the elves who were meant to love Jeongin? 

“Is anything in this world truly worth… worth…” 

“It will be all right,” Minho repeats. His eyes close and he can feel the warmth that burns in Jeongin as clearly as he had when they had first been bound, can feel the way their hearts beat together. If he tries just a little harder, he can feel the way their souls sing in sync. Jeongin is part of him, just as he is part of Jeongin; two halves of the same whole. This part, Minho will protect forever. 

But he cannot fight the other part of his heart. The part that is wholly his. He is tied between his promises; to Jeongin, to Hyunjin. 

To himself. 

His scar burns, and Minho feels the shame return, whispering of how selfish he is. He thinks not of Jeongin. Not of Hyunjin. Not of Light. He thinks only of himself, as if he is not more than that. 

“I will not let you die,” he whispers, voice weaker than it had been. 

Is it for Jeongin, the shame asks, or is it just so that can convince himself that he is not like those other elves? That because it is Minho, somehow that means the pain is worth it?

He clutches Jeongin tightly, swallowing thickly to rein in the heat that pricks at his eyes. Jeongin understands. He always does. The shame is wrong. 

So caught up in everything are they, that even in the silence, neither Minho nor Jeongin hear the light footsteps at the door. There’s only a soft knock of warning before it is opening and Jeongin pulls away, quick as a flash, whipping out a dagger so quickly it is naught but a gleam of silver in the candlelight.

“Oh.” Felix is blinking at them in surprise, like he had not really expected to find anyone at all. He freezes, half in the room and half out, eyes flicking between the dagger and Minho, gears turning in his head.

“Who are you?” Jeongin asks icily, not moving from where he has now placed himself between Felix and Minho. His vulnerability has vanished, buried in the deepest recesses of his heart. “Are you the other one?”

“Um.” The look Felix gives to Minho is understandably confused. “I’m Felix?”

“You are not sure?”

“Put it away,” Minho sighs, rising from the bed and pushing Jeongin’s arm down, once more the picture of composure. He is not like Jeongin, able to throw up impenetrable walls at a moment’s notice, but Minho has always been good at wearing masks. “He is not a threat.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Felix ventures warily. “Who are _you?”_

“None of your concern,” Jeongin humphs, though he does tuck his knife away. Minho rolls his eyes, pinching his arm and keeping hold of the sleeve.

“This is Jeongin.”

Felix frowns in thought, trying to place the name among all the information currently buzzing in his mind. It’s familiar, but it has nothing to do with iron. It must be older than that, so he keeps staring at Jeongin. They cannot have met; Felix would remember his face if they had. When he glances at Minho, however, he remembers him curled up on the ground, arms wrapped around his stomach like he was trying to hold himself together.

“Oh.” This revelation doesn’t really help other than to explain why Felix knows the name. “But who are you?”

“I am Minho’s B- ” Jeongin looks at Minho, furrowing his brows. “His brother. I am Minho’s brother.” Minho makes a lopsided grimace, pinching the junction between his brows and his nose.

“He doesn’t have a brother.” Felix gives Jeongin a very odd look, eyes narrowing at the lie. 

“Jeongin, he knows me,” Minho mutters lowly. “From before.”

“Oh.” It’s Jeongin’s turn to frown. “Why did you not tell me that before I looked a fool?”

“How could I have? Besides, he does not know about… this.” Minho’s brows raise and his eyes widen momentarily, flicking down to Jeongin’s arm. Whatever that means, Jeongin seems to understand, pressing his lips together tightly.

“What are you doing here?” He eventually asks, losing none of his ice. He keeps the protective stance he has made between Felix and Minho, but Felix gets the sense that, of the two of them, Jeongin is the bigger threat. 

Though perhaps not to Minho, if the way Minho is looking at him is anything to go by. 

“I was just looking for…” Felix trails off, shaking his head. Why is he explaining himself? It’s none of Jeongin’s business. “Nevermind.” He meets his eyes with a challenge. “What are _you_ doing here?” Minho sighs - something about them going in circles - and Jeongin absolutely bristles.

“You have no right to know that.” There’s a fire in his eyes, the air around them suddenly warmer than it had been. Felix almost feels like he should retreat, like he is about to become a cautionary tale, flying perilously towards a dragon that he should not mess with. Instead, he stands his ground. Felix refuses to be afraid of someone like this.

“Jeongin…” Minho’s voice lifts in warning, but the sort that does not speak of trouble. His thumb runs along Jeongin’s bicep soothingly.

“And you have no right to be here,” Felix snaps back.

“Felix…” It’s the same warning, though more urgent. Minho is staring at him with a silent plea of _“shut up,”_ but Felix sees no reason that he should. 

“No right?” Jeongin draws himself up even taller and Felix feels like he has shrunk in turn. Jeongin is _pissed_ , and not in a way Felix thinks he can weather. He doesn’t back down (though he isn’t sure how much of that is bravery at this point), but he certainly considers it for several long moments. “No _right?”_ Jeongin doesn’t yell, but his presence is suddenly far larger, face stormy. His voice shakes with a barely contained wildfire. “I have more right than anyone,” he spits. 

“Who in Sun’s name do you think you are?” Felix bites the inside of his cheek so hard he draws blood. “Who are you to decide that?”

“Felix, stop.” Minho really is pleading this time, a weary sigh sinking his words.

“Why don’t you tell _him_ to stop?” An accusing, shaking finger points at Jeongin. 

“Because…” Minho’s voice is soft, face devoid of any of the anger that swirls around the rest of the room. He taps Jeongin’s shoulder gently, and there’s a tense moment before Jeongin nods. Carefully, Minho takes Jeongin’s right arm and unclasps his arm-guard, rolling his sleeve up and holding up the arm beside his left one, the undersides of their forearms facing Felix. He stares at the matching scars with such intensity it feels as if they will forever be branded into his memory.

_“A promise. The one bond I can never - will never - break.”_

“Because he is my Bonded. And he is right.” Their arms fall and Jeongin fixes his shirt, but Felix still stares straight ahead. Bonded? He knows only of lifebonds, like those made in marriage, but they don’t involve anything like this. His tongue runs over his teeth and his brows lift in disbelief. 

“Bonded?” The question is flat and dubious. Felix and Minho make eye contact for a long few seconds.

“You had best go, Jeongin,” Minho murmurs. 

“Are you sure?” Jeongin’s brows pinch as he looks to Minho with quiet concern, an entirely different elf than he had been to Felix.

“Aye,” Minho sighs, grabbing his undershirt from the bed and pulling it on. His hand runs through his hair (compared to Jeongin, right beside him, Felix can’t help but to notice that it is darker than it was when they first met) and down his face. “It will be easier on us all, I think.”

Felix does not miss the glare Jeongin gives him when he leaves, but it isn’t the most pressing matter on his mind.

“Bonded,” he repeats.

“Bonded,” Minho confirms. His tunic is back on and rebelted, but Minho only holds his quiver in his hands, making no move to put it sling it over his shoulder.

“Like… a lifebond?” Felix asks skeptically, wary as he eyes Minho.

“No.” The corners of Minho’s lips quirk up, as though he’s found it funny. Felix is serious. “A soulbond.”

“If you don’t want to tell me, just say so.” Felix’s voice is terse. Soulbonds are the sort of thing not even Hyunjin would believe in, so rarely are they mentioned in the countless legends of old. They are utterly farfetched, a load of nonsense someone made up to embellish on and emphasize an impossible loyalty, and said to be forged only by the gods.

“Why would I lie about it?” Minho frowns, a tiny flash of hurt in his eyes. He pulls his arm close to his chest.

“You do not exactly have the best track record when it comes to the truth, Minho.” It isn’t angry or sad; just tired. If Minho was so good at living a lie in his youth, Felix wonders if he ever learned to live honestly. If he would even want to. To think that just a few moons ago, Felix believed that Minho told only the truth.

“I am not lying.”

“Elvish magic is not strong enough to soulbond, if such a thing even truly exists. Are you saying that you have the power of a god?”

“No, _your_ magic is not.” Felix blinks, taken aback. “Blessed magic is not like yours.”

“Elves are Elves.” Felix throws up his hands. “Blessed or not, you cannot change that, Minho. You were born an Elf, and you will be an Elf until you die. No matter what you call yourself, _you cannot change that_.” He regrets it the minute he says it, as Minho’s face crumples.

“Do you think we gave ourselves matching burns for fun?” It is heavy with sadness. 

“Elflings do stupid things sometimes,” Felix says more gently than before. “If you were willing to let your back be burned as a pledge of allegiance…” Minho’s lip twitches.

“Stupid little me, huh?” 

“We all do foolish things.”

“This was not one of them, Felix.” Minho’s eyes go hard. “I would go through the pain of being bonded a million times over if I had to.”

Felix, tired of fighting, relents. They had never fought as elflings; he hates that they do now. He sinks to the bed, fingers knitting and unknitting themselves, and wishes to return to his old naivety, when he believed Minho without fail. It hurts to fight over something so pointless as this. If Minho believes it, then it is true to him. Does it really matter what the truth is? Has it ever?

“What does a soulbond entail?” He asks softly, raking a hand through his hair. 

“We do not have to talk about it if you do not want.” Minho’s fight vanishes just as quickly.

“No,” Felix sighs, “I wanted an explanation. I may as well hear you out. I…” The toothy smile of a young Minho flashes in front of his eyes. Felix had always believed him - believed _in_ him - with all his heart. His head falls to Minho’s shoulder. “I will try to believe you.”

“Jeongin is my other half,” Minho says quietly. “That is the simplest way to put it. I feel what he feels and more importantly, I feel what he no longer can. His pain is mine to bear, and mine his. It is supposed to keep the two of us alive.” He falls silent for a moment and draws in a hesitant breath. “In a soulbond, when one of the pair dies, the other dies with them. And when you share a soul - a _heart_ \- with someone, when you come to love them above all else, you would do anything to keep them alive.” 

Felix can think only of Jeongin’s anger, the prickling of danger at the back of his neck.

“Would Jeongin?”

Minho turns to him in shock, eyes sharp in bewilderment. 

“He seems the sort to only care for himself,” Felix mutters. “Like he would hurt you.”

“It is I who hurts him.” The guilt is almost palpable. “Jeongin is not like me. He will not do that.” Felix frowns, but says nothing. “Powerful as I may be,” Minho says after a minute, seemingly out of the blue, a warning lilt to his words, “among the Blessed, it is Jeongin who is truly a force to be reckoned with. I do not expect that you will get along, but do not fight him.”

“I think you should worry more about him picking the fight, Minho.”

“He will not.” It is said with soft faith, unfailing trust that runs so deeply it seems a part of Minho. “He is not angry like that.” A hand comes to pick at strands of Felix’s hair. “But his grudges run deep, and if anything were to happen to me, you do not want him to turn his back on you. As it is, he does not hate you enough for that yet. He will leave you be if you leave him.”

“I’ll have no problem with that, don’t worry,” Felix grumbles. “What with his lovely disposition.”

“He means well, Felix. He really does.” Minho’s hand falls open on his lap and he stares at his empty fingers. “I have always been rather protective of him; it should not shock me that it has rubbed off. For all his bluster, he is just worried.”

And maybe this Felix can sympathize with a little. 

“He could still stand to be nicer,” he says anyway.

“I will talk to him.” Minho turns his head and shoots Felix a small smile. “But Jeongin’s feelings are his own, and I cannot change that. He really would just be content to ignore you and Hyunjin.”

“You and I both know Hyunjin will not ignore him though.” At this, the smile turns to a small grimace. 

“It will be a clash of willpower. One would only hope they get tired and give up quickly.”

“I don’t think Hyunjin will.”

“Nor I Jeongin,” Minho sighs. Silence threatens to swallow them whole just as the ever dimming light from the candles does. “What did you come here for?”

Felix blinks. Had there been anything? Jeongin and this whole “soulbond” business have chased away most of his thoughts. “I think I was just looking for you. I’ve never found you here before though, so I didn’t think anyone would answer when I knocked.” His mouth twists for a second. “Sorry.”

“Me? Why?”

“I don’t know.” Felix shrugs. “I don’t think I really had a reason. I just haven’t seen you all day.” With some effort, he lifts his head from Minho’s shoulder. “I know we are not elflings anymore, but I miss spending the whole day together. I miss how things used to be. I would not trade my life now, but sometimes I wish things could be like that again.”

“They cannot.” Minho looks at him with sympathy, but none of his old wistfulness. “Things can never be as once were. Wishing they could will only ever hurt.” Then, barely more than a whisper: “Let that me go, Felix. You will never find him, no matter how hard you try. It hurts us both like this.”

“I can’t give up on you.” Felix’s hands come to hold Minho’s head, searching for the hopeful sparkle that had once lived in his eyes. “Just because you’ve changed doesn’t mean you lost yourself completely. That you is not dead.” Maybe Minho is right. It is difficult to ignore the way Felix’s heart sinks when he sees nothing but sadness and himself reflected in Minho’s irises. 

“That me lives on only in you.” It is blue, underlined with a pleading red. Felix erases them both. Minho does not understand. Whatever he feels towards his past self, he is the product of it. As a factor, he cannot get rid of it. But Felix does nothing except look at Minho, just as Minho looks at him. If Minho is the one who does not understand, why does he give Felix such a look of resignation, as if it is _Felix_ who has misunderstood? They are plagued by a constant disconnect, like though they have read the same book, they are discussing different pages. The same plot is so different; two diverging lines that Minho and Felix can never converge, only talking themselves into dizzying circles when they try.

“I should see if Hyunjin needs me,” Minho sighs, pulling his head away from Felix. “About Jeongin…”

“I won’t tell him.” Felix sighs just as heavily. “I don't even think I could if I tried. But know that I hate lying, even for you. You have to tell him eventually.”

“I know.” Minho rakes a hand through his hair and adjusts his quiver on his back. “I know,” he repeats more softly, more strained. “I am waiting for the right time.”

“And when will that be? Would you even have told _me_ if I had not been so insistent on healing you?”

“No,” Minho says without any remorse. The reminder that Minho has told Felix all that he has only because he felt like he had to stings, even though Felix already knows.

“It’s been moons, Minho. Every day you have the chance.”

“I do not want things to change, Felix.” Minho frowns at the floor, hand resting on the door handle. “What good can come of it? Everyone likes a pretty lie better than an ugly truth.”

“Perhaps the liar does,” Felix challenges quietly, “but the beauty is false and fleeting. Silver is prettier than iron, but in the end it is iron that has more value to us.”

“Hyunjin deserves pretty things,” Minho murmurs, though with less assurance. 

“Hyunjin values honesty.” In the tenuous silence, Felix reaches for Minho. His hand stops just inches away, hovering over the shoulder he had failed to fix, before dropping back to Felix’s side. “No matter what you tell him, I don’t think he’ll ever find it ugly. Not if it’s you.” Minho hums, neither in agreement or disagreement. The sound is flat, as downturned as the edges of the line of his mouth. Felix isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

“Not yet,” he says through a long exhale. “Not until I feel I must.”

As they leave the room and head their separate ways, Felix’s eyes linger on Minho as he strides through the dark hall. For as much as he has started to open up, both to Hyunjin and to Felix, there is still something that he ardently defends, something that runs deeper than just being Blessed. Once, Felix might have thought it was Jeongin, but now… 

It seems more the sort of thing that hurts, like a knife in Minho’s side that he won’t anyone touch out of fear of the pain, retreating from even those who mean him no harm. Knowing Minho, like a deer he’ll retreat until he can’t. Only when his back is to the wall and he sees no way out will he give up this fight.

Though Felix sees no other way, he hopes it is not Hyunjin who corners Minho, not Hyunjin who tries to pull at the knife because he does not want to see Minho in pain. If it’s not Minho who does it - who _chooses_ to do it - Felix fears the consequence, fears that his trust will be struck at its weakest point and will shatter like glass the moment Hyunjin pushes too far and cut them all.

Felix does not want to think about who it will cut the deepest.

  
  


True to Minho and Felix's prediction, Hyunjin and Jeongin spend every interaction at an impasse, neither willing to back down or give even an inch. When night comes and he and Seungmin are free from their obligations, Hyunjin is a constant volley of arrows, asking questions and keeping up a conversation all on his own; Jeongin a wall, blocking him at every turn. His answers are clipped and brief, and rarely even true answers. For someone who burns so brightly, he is cold as ice in comparison to Hyunjin's fixed sunshine. No matter how many times he's rebuffed, his charm never wavers. 

Anyone can see that he desperately wants Jeongin to like him. Or, at the very least, to stop glaring at him so much. 

Only once in these long hours is Jeongin anything less than aloof. Once, when Hyunjin asks about his family, and Jeongin melts a little, his hard eyes softening and the stern frown he always gives Hyunjin turning into something sad and hurt rather than standoffish. 

Minho, who never interrupts and seems to find this clash of wills almost amusing, looks at him with concerned, pinched brows, fingers twitching as though he means to reach out for him.

"Minho is my family," Jeongin says, voice soft and firm all at once. Even Seungmin raises a brow at him, as if he has not seen Jeongin like this before. Then the moment breaks, and Jeongin is winter once more, shaking his head and so too the softness, like it’s nothing more than water from a duck’s back. "I care not for flesh and blood,” he mutters, eyes falling to the side rather than meeting Hyunjin head on. For once, the bitterness is not leveled at him. “They cared not for me.”

“Did you run away too?” Hyunjin asks, more muted than usual in the newly somber atmosphere that hangs over them like a heavy mist. Nonetheless, his curiosity shines through, the question well meaning despite the way Jeongin narrows his eyes at him, as if searching for an attack in it. Felix’s eyes dance between the two of them as the silence grows longer; if Hyunjin has taken a mile when Jeongin has only given an inch, he wouldn’t put it past Jeongin to push back even harder than usual.

“Sure,” Jeongin says with a huff of thorny laughter, “I suppose you could say that.”

“Then which kingdom were you born in?” Against his own better judgement, Hyunjin prods more. Perhaps he should take the opportunity to ask something more important, more hard hitting, to use his luck while he has it. Instead, he backs away from such questions, finding that he cannot make himself ask. They stick to the roof of his mouth and Hyunjin can only ask something this trivial. 

“Yours.” It’s Seungmin who answers, and everyone turns to look at him in surprise. He shrugs, like it’s obvious. 

“How do you know that?” Hyunjin and Jeongin ask at the same time with varying levels of confusion. Jeongin’s jaw is tensed, his brows furrowed with something that isn’t anger. “I never told you that.” He almost seems to withdraw a little, pulling tighter into his impossibly solid shell. 

“You didn’t have to.” Seungmin shrugs again, head tilting at Jeongin. “You invoke the Sun; I’ve had an inkling for a while now.”

“It must be good to be back.” Hyunjin smiles at Jeongin a little, reminded of how Minho had seemed happy about it. The smile quickly fades when he sees no joy in Jeongin’s face. In fact, he sees nothing at all, not even anger. Jeongin has gone utterly blank. “Is it-”

“Enough,” Minho cuts in, a sudden shield in front of Jeongin. “The past does not matter.”

But how can it not when it makes fiery Jeongin lose his flame? How can it not when it almost sounds like Minho means it of himself, eyes staying on Felix just a second too long when he says it? How can it not when, late in the night, Felix sees Minho and Jeongin through the window, frosted in the moonlight, holding hands like elflings watching their world come crumbling down around them?

How can the past not matter when it is threaded into everything, when it seeps into dreams and nightmares, when it makes them who they are?

(How can it not matter if it hurts?)

  
  


“Hyunjin.” Felix walks hurriedly into the library, late to a card game with a far too heavily competitive atmosphere. “Prince Seungmin.” They look at Felix with varying degrees of annoyance at being interrupted, pressing their cards to their chests while Minho and Jeongin’s eyes less than subtly try to sneak peeks. “We’ve received news that the Men have entered the Forest.” Hyunjin and Seungmin hum in disinterest and understanding, turning back to staring at their cards, but Minho’s eyes narrow, just for a beat.

“Why are there Men in the Forest?” He asks, voice deliberate and controlled. He flicks a card onto the table. Jeongin glances up at him from his hand. 

“Ah, they’re coming to discuss trade with our kingdoms,” Hyunjin supplies. “I meant to tell you when it was decided upon, but it never really came up.”

“You did not have to.” Minho shrugs.

“Does it bother you that they’re here?” Felix peers over Hyunjin’s shoulder and taps the card he should play next. He’s met with an immediate smack to the back and a scowl from Seungmin.

“Don’t cheat!”

“It does not bother me,” Minho replies, moving a card from one side of his hand to the other, eyes so intently fixed on it he seems to want to commit every detail to memory. “Why should it?”

“You said you are not fond of Men…” Felix says carefully, unsurely. Should he bring it up, remind Minho, if Minho is fine?

“I said it does not bother me,” Minho repeats with more bite, pressing his cards face down to the table and standing, arm and splayed hand stiff despite his seemingly relaxed posture. “I am out; deal Felix in.” Felix and Hyunjin exchange a silent message as their eyes meet, but neither of them say anything. Felix’s mouth pulls into a grimace and Hyunjin shrugs heavily, but aside from that, they let Minho leave without a word. 

“I am out as well.” Jeongin tosses his cards at the deck as Felix takes a seat. “You may as well start a new round, since Felix has seen Hyunjin’s cards.” He pushes away from the table.

“You’re not playing?” Seungmin raises a brow, pulling Jeongin’s cards neatly in line with the deck. 

“I never much liked cards.” His voice is direct, as it always is, but, his attention has been pulled from the table and towards the looming bookshelves Minho has disappeared between. Then he follows, lips pressed tightly together, though not in their usual resolute stubbornness. 

“Odd,” Seungmin comments offhandedly. Hyunjin hums, and Felix lifts up Minho’s cards to return them to the deck to be shuffled. The hand is good; he easily could have kept playing. It’s not like Minho not to see it through. “Cards, Felix?” Seungmin puts out a hand expectantly, breaking Felix from his thoughts. He hands them over and Seungmin does his fancy shuffling tricks which never cease to impress him and Hyunjin.

“You think anything will come of these negotiations?” Felix asks as the cards flutter between Seungmin’s hands like petals in the wind. Seungmin snorts, but otherwise keeps his opinion to himself.

“Do you?” He counters.

“It will not hurt to hear them out.” Hyunjin remains cautious, even if he has long since warmed up to the idea. “Honestly, I’m more interested to see what they’re like than anything. All my knowledge comes from age old warnings and annals.”

“Then you know that no kingdom in the Forest has ever traded with Men before.” Seungmin fans out the deck so that he can deal. “We are shooting in the dark.”

“Our history need not be our present.” Felix pulls his pile of cards towards himself. “The Kingdom Beneath the Clouds was unthinkable once. Times change, and perhaps so should we.”

“History is cyclic,” Seungmin returns evenly. “Too often have Men started wars that we have had to finish. And that is without them getting a foot in the door.”

“They can’t all be bad,” Hyunjin murmurs.

“And not all Elves are good.” Seungmin shrugs. “That’s beside the point.”

“So you think we should not trade with them?” Hyunjin tilts his head.

“I think we should not be so hasty just because of the Kingdom Beneath the Clouds. We know them; no one knows these Men.” Seungmin’s frown is jagged and hard. “I am scared of war,” he admits softly, glancing up at Hyunjin and rubbing his hand over his neck and tugging his collar up. “I want to protect my kingdom.”

“I know,” Hyunjin tells him gently. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You share the longest border with the Kingdom Beneath the Clouds. If you want to protect your kingdom, then you should consider that as well.” Felix taps at the back of his cards, eyes glued to the table rather than on Seungmin. He says it kindly - and he and Seungmin are friends of sorts - but he feels almost out of place giving him advice. Felix doesn’t know Seungmin like he does Hyunjin, doesn’t know his kingdom like this one. He knows only what he has learned from books and maps and the little things he has picked up from Seungmin.

Share Hyunjin’s burdens as he might, he will never be able to ease that of wearing the crown. Of the responsibility that will fall on Hyunjin’s - on Seungmin’s - shoulders one day. It is not for him to understand, only for him to advise.

“I know.” Seungmin sighs, resignation heavy in the air. “That worries me too. Everything does, as of late. Something must change - is already changing - and it hurts my heart. I fear that nothing good will come of it.”

“You know not what the future holds, Seungmin.” Hyunjin plays a card, shooting a small smile across the table. “Maybe things will be wonderful. We have to hope. We have to give it a chance. No matter what happens, even if it is the end of our times, I’ll weather it with you.”

Hope. In Hyunjin’s sky, it burns the brightest - his north star, guiding him and holding his hand through it all. Hope keeps him safe and warm; to him, it is never false, could never be anything bad. 

Seungmin gives him a crooked sort of smile. “I have no choice but to give it a chance. I just don’t think it will be wonderful.”

“I think we’re all worried, but the Men may not be so bad.” Hyunjin tries a lighter, more reassuring tone. “Besides, Men are weak. Worst comes to worst, they’d be easy to kill. They certainly would not be able to hurt you, not with Jeongin around.” 

“I suppose that’s true.”

“You’ll give them a chance too?”

“I must.” Hyunjin pouts at Seungmin. “I’ll give them a chance,” Seungmin sighs. “I guess I’m interested to see what they’re like too.”

Minho, however, is not. Even if he says nothing about it, it is abundantly clear each and every time Hyunjin and Felix look at him. His jaw is held too tightly, face oddly pale. He barely seems present when Hyunjin speaks to him as the two of them walk down the long hallway to his room, contributing only an occasional flat hum, less disinterested and more disconnected. Hyunjin makes no comment, just talks and lets Minho’s head float among the clouds. Only when they reach his room and Minho continues to walk like he doesn’t even realize does Hyunjin catch him by the arm, brows knit in gentle concern. Minho practically jumps at this, eyes wide as he blinks a few times and turns to face Hyunjin. 

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin asks. Minho gives him a long, slow blink. “You’re… spacey.” 

“Sorry.” He gets a soft shake of Minho’s head. If it’s possible, even his hair seems wilted. Hyunjin gives him a light tap on the forehead. 

“What’s going on up here, Minho?”

“It is…” Minho trails off at the sight of Hyunjin’s arched brow, almost daring him to say _“nothing.”_

“Just a headache.” A hand pushes against his left side, against the soft spring of his ribs. “A really, really bad headache,” he mumbles, eyes falling to Hyunjin’s shoulder rather than his face.

“Felix knows herbs for that.” Hyunjin runs a hand through Minho’s hair, pushing it off his forehead. Rather than welcome it with a playfully exasperated look on his face, as he usually might, Minho jerks his head back, just a bit, and so Hyunjin stops.

“It is not that sort of headache,” Minho sighs. 

“What other sort of headache is there?” Hyunjin frowns.

“I pray you never find out, Hyunjin.” In the dim hallway the light of the moon cuts Minho’s face, casting half of it in soft frost. It catches in his eye like a delicate white petal before he raises his hand to Hyunjin’s head and the reflection is muddied. With as much care as if Hyunjin were a promise, Minho presses their foreheads together, if only for a moment. “Dream of good things.”

When Hyunjin wakes up, tucked into bed in yesterday’s clothes, he remembers only his eyes falling shut to gold. His dreams dissipate, slow and syrupy like caramel on his tongue, too impermanent to truly be remembered. Only the bitter end, the fearful eyes of an unfamiliar child just out of reach, lingers. Hyunjin swears he recognizes him, somehow, but he can’t quite seem to match the elfling to anyone he had known. Then Felix is knocking on the door, telling Hyunjin it’s time for breakfast, and the eyes break apart like smoke, leaving Hyunjin with nothing left to grasp at as he rolls out of bed and towards his dresser.

Nerves skitter throughout the palace. Even the calmest of elves (to Hyunjin: his parents, constant pillars of assuredness), seem abuzz with anticipation. It isn’t fear, but more a certain wariness. Hyunjin is far from the only elf who has never met a Man before, and even among those who have, it had not been on good terms. Perhaps somewhat unconsciously, Seungmin sticks close to his parents, like he had in the early days when he and Hyunjin had met for the first time. Jeongin sticks with him, mouth in an unreadable line and eyes always searching for Minho.

And Minho looks especially haggard, a mere ghost of himself even as he so carefully conforms to the role he always plays. When he laughs, it’s half-hearted; when he smiles, it falls short of his eyes and catches too heavily in his cheeks, like silk on skin. It’s his head, he tells Hyunjin too forcefully, it’s just his head, nothing more. As the day passes, he looks increasingly ill.

Then, as the sun dips low on the horizon and the council room burns like fire in the deep orange light, the delegation of Men arrives. For long moments, Elves and Men stare at each other in tense, unsure silence, until the queen extends the first branch and greets them. Honestly, Hyunjin finds them… disappointing. They look much like Elves do, just with rounded ears. It's less impressive than it sounds in books. And these Men, eyes wide as they take everything in with unabashed wonder, seem about as threatening as kittens. Across the table, he sees Seungmin eyeing them with a frown and the same sort of confusion. Soft murmurs and hushed conversations float around the room as the Men are shown to their seats at the very end of the table, and some of the wariness eases. 

Most of them are miners or local officials without many illusions of their bargaining chips. Only two are dignitaries of the larger kingdom, a certain haughty air to them until they realize that no one seems impressed by their rank or artful words.

 _“I’m a lord,”_ one of them tells Hyunjin when the council recesses and everyone is standing to stretch and breaking off into small groups for awkward small talk. Felix finds easy conversation with one of the miners. Minho is still as a statue, barely even breathing, behind Hyunjin’s seat, just as he had been earlier.

 _“That is nice,”_ Hyunjin responds evenly, rolling his neck. _“I am a prince.”_

 _“Oh.”_ The man frowns a little in thought. _“But you must be young.”_ At this Hyunjin raises a brow, trying to figure out what angle the man is playing.

 _“I suppose that depends. For an Elf, yes. By your standards…”_ He eyes the beginnings of gray in the man’s beard, but really, Hyunjin knows little about how Men age, only that they die before Elves even reach adulthood. _“Well, I have already surpassed your lifespan. Certainly I am older than you.”_ Another twisted frown. For a moment, the man seems a little lost for words and it’s almost amusing. 

_“You aren’t wearing a crown,”_ he says eventually.

 _“Indeed, I am not.”_ The corners of Hyunjin’s lips turn up a bit. _“There seemed no reason to, though I suppose I could some other time if it would make you believe that I really am a prince.”_

 _“No,”_ the man backtracks suddenly, ears going red with embarrassment and hands waving in front of him, _“there’s no need. We’re all equals here, right?”_

 _“If you would like us to be.”_ Hyunjin shrugs. 

_“Have you ever visited one of our kingdoms?”_ The subject change is jarring and awkwardly placed, but Hyunjin allows it without fuss. 

_“No, I have had no desire to. Elves rarely leave the Forest in which they are born.”_

_“You should some time.”_ That haughty air returns. _“We take great pride in our cities.”_

 _“I am sure you do.”_ Hyunjin has no intention of it. Cities are harsh and bare of trees; of everything he loves and everything that loves him back.

Then suddenly Minho is in front of Hyunjin, less than subtly positioned between him and the man. The man takes a step back in surprise. Hyunjin can’t see Minho’s face, but he feels the stress in the air around him.

“Minho,” Hyunjin pushes in front of him, a bemused smile on his face, “what are you doing?”

“You should not let your guard down, Hyunjin.” Minho’s hand rests on his side, fingers twitching near a dagger hilt. He steps forward so he is once again between Hyunjin and the man. “Men are dangerous.” His voice is low and shaky, trembling like nothing Hyunjin has ever heard from him.

“Minho.” Hyunjin grows more irritated now. “He’s a lord, not an assassin; I can talk to whoever I please. Does he look like he’s even touched a blade in his life?” 

_“We can talk later if your friend is so insistent,”_ the man says with a nervous laugh. There’s no malice, but Minho glares at him.

 _“He is not my friend,”_ Hyunjin grits out in a flash of annoyance. What the hell does Minho think he’s doing? This isn’t how he acts, isn’t acceptable in the teetering negotiations right now. There’s importance in this meeting - something that his parents won’t tell him about but that Hyunjin feels. _“He is my guard, and he was just leaving. Were you not?”_ Minho does not budge, but in the stillness Hyunjin can see him shaking like a leaf in the wind.

 _“Maybe he doesn’t know the Common Tongue?”_ The man suggests, lips pursed. _“Um…”_ He stops to think for a moment. “Leave,” he says after a long pause, the Elvish heavy and flat on his tongue, rigid in the sounds of the Common Tongue, like he has only ever seen the word written in a book. “Please,” he adds after a moment of consideration.

 _“I do not take orders from you,”_ Minho snaps and a few pockets of Elves and Men nearby turn to look at them. He whirls around, grabbing Hyunjin by the arm and pulling him close. “You will have to forgive me if I place little trust in Men,” he all but spits, anger mixing into the wavering in his voice, “but they broke what trust I had. Fool me once, but never twice.”

Another time, Hyunjin might hear the panic, might register the fear bleeding into every aspect of Minho.

In this moment, however, he does not.

“Minho. Leave.” Hyunjin shoves him off, gritting his teeth into a forced smile. Minho’s jaw stiffens. “Now.” The silence is tense, so thin it could snap without warning, as they stare at each other. As it grows, a flash of the fearful, painfully unfamiliar and yet familiar eyes from his dream dances over Hyunjin’s vision. Too late does he see them right in front of him as well. “I said now.”

“Very well,” Minho says tersely, held together tightly, too tightly. He places a fist over his heart and bows in an exaggerated, mocking fashion. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

Off on the other side of the room, Jeongin nearly leaps after him, stopped only by Seungmin glancing at him. Felix turns to watch Minho leave, brows low in confusion and concern. 

Hyunjin bites his tongue until he tastes blood and forgets the fear, returning to his conversation as if nothing has happened.

He and Felix find Minho hours later in the empty dining room, staring through the expansive windows at the moon, fists so tight it must hurt where his nails dig into his palms. He shakes with every breath, but Hyunjin can't see past his own storm. 

"What is wrong with you?" Hyunjin all but shouts, held back only by Felix. "You know this could be important!" 

"I do not like Men." It is deceptively calm and controlled, destructive fire just beyond. 

"You did not even talk to them. How can you say that?" Hyunjin's hand falls to the table, fingertips pressing against the wood. "You don't know everything, Minho! You have no reason to dislike them." 

"I do not need to explain myself to you, Your Highness." Minho flings the cold title at Hyunjin with bite Felix recognizes from their youth. 

"Hyunjin, stop," he whispers. There is no cloud across his vision and he can see the incoming collapse, the fire about to consume them all. But Felix goes unheard and Hyunjin barges right on. 

The fire is inevitable.

"What would you know of Men?" He challenges, approaching Minho with an accusing sword prepared to strike. 

"Men are greedy." Minho turns so sharply that Hyunjin stumbles back. "Men look to exploit. We are nothing but creatures to them; deadly weapons or beautiful _things_ ," he hisses. "We are storied, we are exalted. We are not human, we are beneath them." 

"What are you _talking_ about?" Hyunjin continues his approach, teeth clenched so tightly it hurts.

"Men love that which is different, yet they hate it. Men take kindness and turn it to betrayal the moment your back is turned." Minho's voice rises, anger born from hurt there are no words for. "What would _you_ know of Men?" He finishes, chest heaving and eyes glossy with unshed tears. 

"How would you know that?" Hyunjin is in Minho's face before Felix can reach him. Minho steps back and Hyunjin follows, until Minho is practically cornered, his back mere inches from the window. He looks small, shrinking away from Hyunjin. "How would you know _any_ of this?!" 

The fire catches and drains from Minho, reflecting in his eyes instead - pure and utter panic as he realizes he has nowhere left to run. Felix reaches for him, for Hyunjin, for anyone he can save.

"It was Men who killed me." Minho's voice has dropped to little more than a wisp of smoke on the wind. Without his fire, his eyes are empty and haunted and he looks moments from throwing up. His breathing grows more choppy. 

"What?" A laugh bubbles in Hyunjin's throat, the wind in his sails dying so quickly he has little time to process it. "What did you just say?" 

"I said it was Men who killed me," Minho repeats with no more substance. Hyunjin backs away a few steps until he is beside Felix. His hand finds Felix’s, fallen open and empty at his side. His brows are pinched, mouth open slightly as his eyes search Minho’s face. When he squeezes Hyunjin’s hand - hard, painful - it isn’t with the same sentiment Hyunjin squeezes his.

“Don’t joke about that.” Even his voice is hard, oddly harsh for Felix. “It’s not _funny_ , Minho.”

“I am not joking.”

“Then you’re lying.” Hyunjin bristles.

“But you said…” Felix’s hand goes slack in his, the words so soft they’re barely audible. “You said you didn’t…”

“You’re alive.” Hyunjin marches forward again, mouth tight with the need to prove that he’s right. He grabs Minho’s arm - solid, real. “You’re _alive_.” Minho breathes, he’s warm even through the fabric of his sleeve. His eyes - stripped and raw with something foreign - meet Hyunjin’s and time seems to freeze between them. Doubt nestles into Hyunjin’s throat with painful thorns, not with Minho, but with himself.

His hand runs up Minho’s arm to his neck unsurely, self-assurance faltering, and Hyunjin hesitantly extends his fingers towards his artery. Minho’s chest rises and falls, his skin is warm. Hyunjin almost pauses, but he has to know. He has to be sure. Minho is alive. Alive.

“Aren’t you?” Hyunjin little more than mouths it as his fingers press against the artery. Minho makes unfaltering eye contact as the room holds its breath.

Minho breathes.

(False breath.)

Minho is warm. 

(False warmth.)

There is nothing beneath Hyunjin’s fingers. Not even the weakest sign of a pulse. Trembling, his hand falls away.

(False life.)

“What the hell is this, Minho?” He feels like he’s been lost in the dark and stormy woods, disoriented and unable to find his way. “What in Sun’s name is going on?” Felix is beside him, searching for Minho’s heartbeat himself. He makes a hard, thick swallow when he has no more luck than Hyunjin. A hand comes to the side of Minho’s face, hesitant as Minho makes a minute flinch.

“I don’t understand,” Felix says softly, pained. Now it is he who looks sick. “You couldn’t have.” 

Liar. Liar. Liar.

“Would you like to?” Minho’s eyes flutter shut as he gently takes Felix’s wrist and removes the hand. His voice is still thin, shivering as it hits the cold rays of the moon. “I cannot show you everything, but…” he inhales as if to steady himself, hands burning as they come to lay on Felix and Hyunjin’s shoulders. “I can show you enough.”

Felix is quiet, eyes glassy as he stares at Minho. This is different for him than it is for Hyunjin. Why is it different? 

“Show us.” Minho won’t open his eyes, won’t look at Hyunjin. When Hyunjin blinks, his eyes sting. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. He means not the sharpness with which he speaks, but he can’t seem to help it.

“As you wish.” Minho’s hands rest on the back of their necks, his thumbs pressing in their hair, just beneath the curve of bone behind their ears. For a moment nothing changes; it just feels like white hot flames piercing through flesh and right into their bodies, nothing like the gentle, comforting warmth both of them have felt from Minho. 

Then they blink.

_The forest is the rich green of summer, emerald leaves shining in the sunlight and the mossy floor dappled in gold. Songbirds chirp overhead and somewhere, in the light of the deepening afternoon, the call of a tired sounding sparrow rings out clearly. Minho, young and very much alive, tilts his head up to trees in search of it, eyes squinting against the sun. It’s a melody he is familiar with, one he thinks sings in his bones, in his chest. He whistles it back, like he always does. It’s as close of a rendition as he is physically capable of, the closest he can achieve to perfect after decades of practice. Just once he wants a song in response. To feel like he has succeeded, like he has been heard. But Minho waits a few seconds, and then a minute, and only then does the sparrow call again._

_He sighs, head falling away from the brightness of the sky and back to the green in front of him. It’s the same, always the same. Though Minho ignores the rules of the village and goes into the forest week after week, he never strays more than an hour away. There’s only so much to see within that radius and over the long years, Minho has seen it all. Still, he continues to explore, to leave the stifling village in search of something - anything - that might settle the unnamed ache in his chest._

_Being alone among the trees used to give him at least a sense of calm. Now, the older he grows, the more it makes his stomach hurt. The more something in him aches._

_Minho marches on with a purpose, like pretending will help him find one. Wind ruffles his hair, unseasonably cold for the otherwise hot day. A slight shiver runs up Minho’s spine and he shakes his head briskly to rid himself of the goosebumps that rise on his skin._

_“Should’ve brought a cloak,” he grumbles to no one, absently rubbing his arm. “No.” A soft sigh. His eyes fall to the ground and his teeth come to pick at his lip. “That’d be stupid.” So through the forest he continues, leaping over fallen logs and crouching to examine interesting plants he remembers from previous walks. Rabbits and birds stare at him with curiosity, sensing no threat, and allow Minho surprisingly close before they hop away. To be a bird, he thinks, would be wonderful. To fly and have the whole world to see._

_The world is so big, and Minho so small, so insignificant, within it._

_He makes it to the farthest reaches that he has braved and stares out at the endless green, past the limit of all he knows, over the edge of his personal tiny world. Minho’s eyes close and he breathes deeply as the breeze picks up again._

_If he is a bird, then his wings are clipped and useless._

_At the sound of loud, indelicate footsteps and the soft crackle of leaves, Minho’s eyes open and he turns his head to find the cause._

_They’re not Elves, that’s for sure. The group approaching him walks too loudly, seemingly without any care at all for where their feet fall. Minho tilts his head curiously as they come closer, pointing at him specifically among the trees. Men, he quickly concludes. Like Elves, but with worse hearing and sight and different ears, that is how his teacher had described them once. The group continues until they are a mere few feet away from him and Minho eyes them carefully. They seem out of place here, like they don’t belong at all._

_“Hello, small Elf.” The Elvish is clumsy from the get-go, the vowels all wrong and consonants too hard, like the man is trying to fit them into his knowledge of the Common Tongue and has never heard how they should really sound. “We lose am. Us help you can?” Minho blinks at them for a beat, trying to make sense of the jumbled words.._

“Lost?” _He tries in the Common Tongue. If the man speaks so poorly, Minho doubts he will have better luck understanding._ “You are lost?” _There are five of them and they all nod eagerly. Four stare at him with wide, amazed eyes, as though they’ve found gold. The fifth, the one who had spoken (Minho decides to dub him the leader), seems more nonchalant, but his eyes travel up and down Minho with far too much of a gleam in them._ “You do not have a map?” _Do Men have maps of Elvish lands? Do Men even_ come _to Elvish lands?_

 _“_ No,” _the leader answers, “it wind stole.” Perhaps he is the only one with any sort of knowledge of Elvish. Minho would prefer if he would simply give up using it, for all of their sakes._

“It was blown away?” _He receives a nod and gives a solemn one of his own._ “Where do you wish to go?”

“We want to leave the woods.” _At this, Minho pauses. His village is deep within the kingdom, and, as far as he knows, the only border with Mens’ lands is on the opposite side. He would not dream of going so far, could never be so daring. There aren’t even any villages near it; only border guards meant to keep unwelcome guests out. Minho frowns, just a little, but takes a tiny step closer nonetheless. Though he is wary of strangers, he isn’t distrustful without reason. He should be kind, like he would want others to be to him._

“I can take you to the river,” _he tells them after some thought. The nearest part is a few hours away, but far closer than the border. The river runs through to one of the kingdoms outside the Forest, though he has no idea which one._ “You can follow that out.” 

_Something in him screams in warning - he has been told not to wander, he knows not this part of the woods - but as the men look between each other and nod in agreement, it’s too late to back out. Minho steps forward, past the safety that he knows, and immediately the back of his neck prickles with the stares of the men, fixed on him as they follow._

_(He tells himself that he can be brave, that he knows what he is doing, and ignores the feeling until it ebbs away and nestles into his heart.)_

_The birds fall silent and the woods suddenly feel far less friendly._

_Minho walks carefully, deliberately, relying mostly on the maps of the kingdom he had once had to memorize to guide him. Until he can hear running water, he has nothing else to go on. And while he would be content to travel in silence, the men’s quiet chatter is like the buzz of cicadas in his ears._

“A real Elf…” _They keep whispering to each other, levels of shock and awe among them. Something about it doesn’t sit well with him, though he supposes perhaps he’s the first one they’ve seen. Someone’s fingers brush the tips of his ears, and at this Minho whips around and smacks the hand away, a bitten back curse on his tongue and clear offense written in every line of his face._

 _Who in their right mind would do such a thing? It’s rude and violating and plain_ weird _. Is it some sort of tradition among Men? His nose crinkles at the thought._

_But the man marvels at his fingers like they are covered in precious gems and Minho says nothing, filing it away under curiosity for a shiny, new thing._

“How old are you, boy?” _One of them asks._

“By your standards, I think I am older than you,” _he answers. The men look… not quite young, but they are not wrinkled or grayed yet. But in such a short life, age must come quickly._ “This is my 43rd year.”

“You are but a child then,” _the leader says with an odd amount of satisfaction. Minho narrows his eyes a little._

“I see you have read about my kind. Yes; a child.”

“And yet you are all alone in the dark, scary woods.” _Minho stiffens a bit, frowning heavily and clutching the strap of his quiver tightly. The woods are not dark or scary - the only danger is getting lost. The Forest will not hurt him._

“Unlike human children, we are not so helpless,” _is all he chooses to say, tone clipped. Then he turns and continues on his trek like a duck with five looming wolves on his tail._

_“What is your name, small Elf?” The leader asks after what feels like an eternity of walking. Minho desperately hopes to hear water soon; this adventure is not fun. He does not feel brave like he thought he would. If anything, around these men, he feels smaller than ever._

“Why do you wish to know?” _Minho may not distrust them, but he’s careful. Names hold weight, give substance to a face. He has heard stories of those who can curse others. What if these men are some of them?_

“It is customary among Men to know each other’s names,” _the man tells him matter-of-factly._

_“Minho,” he says after a pause. “My name is Minho.”_

_“Minho…” the man hums, more to himself than to Minho. It is flat on his tongue, does not fit properly in his mouth. As with all his Elvish, what is light turns heavy and the sounds twist into something dull and cold. Despite taking Minho’s name, he makes no offer of his own._ “It is a nice name, I suppose.” _He suddenly gives Minho a much more appraising, bone chilling look, one that he does not like and that sends chills down his spine._ “A pretty name for such a pretty Elf.” _And that Minho_ really _does not like, discomfort crawling beneath his skin and a sick feeling curling in his stomach. He gives the man a tight, uncomfortable smile and hastens his pace, but the group does the same._

“What’s the rush?” _The leader asks, a heavy hand falling on Minho’s shoulder, a dark shadow wrapping around him._ “I’m just making conversation.” _Minho swallows and mutters something like an apology. At long last, he can hear the river, sees the thinning trees at its bank in the distance. Their pace is slow once more, with the man’s hand refusing to leave Minho’s shoulder, his thumb pressing into the muscles there in a way that Minho does not interpret well in the least. If it means to ease his nerves, it does nothing of the sort. He shifts his shoulder and rolls his neck not so subtly, but the hint is not taken._

_Or it is ignored._

_He becomes ever more aware of just how close the rest of the group is to him, their tall heads blocking out the light and burying Minho in shade. In the silent woods, only the wind, cold as earlier, makes any sound, rustling angrily in the leaves. His discomfort claws at his throat with relentless sharp claws now, and with every step forward Minho grows sicker and sicker with regret. This wasn’t brave; it was just stupid._

_What was he thinking?_

_What has he done?_

_And to think he wanted Yongbok to come. He’s probably at home helping his parents prepare for dinner like he likes to do, smiling and happy (the face is blurred as it pops into Minho's head, as though it has been stolen from him) and perched up his tiptoes to watch his father prepare the herbs._

_Minho has never been so glad to have been turned down._

_The river is just ahead, close enough that even the men can see it. Minho stops dead in his tracks._

“I have brought you to the river,” _he announces firmly, voice nearly cracking against the tightness of his throat._ “I will go no further.” _He waits. And waits. But the hand makes no indication of moving from his shoulder, only imprisoning him in the long shadow. So Minho tries to pull away himself, only to find that the man’s fingers dig in harder and he turns Minho around to face him._ “Please let me go,” _Minho finds himself whimpering, losing any and all assertion he has ever had._

 _And the man_ laughs _._

_Something buzzes beneath Minho's skin, an itch that crawls through his whole body like bugs in his veins. He feels gross, unsettled. The hand is heavy, heavy, heavy, like a boulder balancing on the bone, moments from cracking it. The weight sinks to Minho's stomach and it lurches violently, sudden panic trying to force itself from his throat and out of his mouth. Instead it only suffocates him._

“Oh, Minho,” _the man chides with a smile._ “A pretty, little thing like you? Do you really think we could just leave you here?”

_Minho goes utterly numb beneath the man's hand and the numbness spreads, overtaking the skittering in his blood. Everything is suddenly so very cold. Then there’s white hot fingers grabbing his chin and turning his head this way and that, examining Minho like he’s a horse to be sold. His skin burns where the man holds him with almost bruising force, far harder than necessary. The eyes that appraise him are dark in a frightening sort of way, glinting with greed and the hunger of a wolf that has finally caught its prey._

“You’ll make us a lot of money. I know Men who would kill to have something like you. Who would kill to even _see_ something like you." _The man grins._ “Men like pretty things, you know, Elf?” _The contents of Minho’s empty stomach threaten to come up._

“I… I belong to the Forest,” _he whispers in a shaky voice, swallowing a lump in his throat._ “I… I do not... think I should leave.” _He shakes his head free from the man’s fingers and tries to take a step back, reaching behind him for an arrow with a trembling hand._

“No, Minho.” _The man grabs his arm, hard and angry, his nails digging into Minho’s skin. Tighter. Tighter. Minho is nothing more than a glass he is preparing to shatter, a hollow bauble he wants to crush in the palm of his hand._ “You belong to me.” _Around them, the wind suddenly picks up, sharp and angry against their faces._

_He jerks his head before Minho can wrench his arm away and suddenly his quiver is torn away from him and his arrows are strewn across the ground, snapping beneath the men’s feet. Minho watches as they break, one by one, before his eyes snap back to the leader in a panic and he tries to rip his arm away, only to be held tighter and have it twisted at a dangerous angle. Tears threaten to spring to his eyes as the ache settles into his bone and his next attempt to pull away is weaker._

_One of the men has his bow. Desperately, foolishly, Minho reaches for it with his free hand, a strangled cry caught in his throat. But the man brings it to his knee and the loud_ snap! _that follows may as well come straight from Minho’s chest. Something inside him feels like it has caved in and tears prick more insistently at his eyes._

“You should thank me,” _the leader coos, voice so patronizing and slimy that it makes Minho’s insides twist. He strokes Minho’s cheek like a worried mother might, but there is nothing caring, nothing loving or parental about the sneer on his face. Minho shudders and jerks his head back._

_(He won’t cry. Can’t cry. Not in front of these men.)_

_The man does not like this and his voice goes colder._ “Next time it might be your arm I snap, little Elf.” _For all he sees in Minho, all the money, his mouth twists in something close to disgust. Like Minho - like_ Elves _are just creatures, something beneath him, something as worthless as it is valuable. Something pretty to be bought and sold, to be shown off and bragged about._

“Should we gag it?”

“You’ll be good, won’t you, Minho?” _Again, his stomach lurches. His name, bestowed upon him with such love, is fouled by the man’s mouth, treated as though it were little more than filth. Minho wishes he had never given it; wishes he had kept it safely within his mouth. In desperation, his eyes dart around the forest for someone -_ anyone _\- but all he sees are greedy, hungry faces. What can he do? What can he_ do?

_Another sharp gust of wind blows leaves off branches and sends them swirling around the men. What little sunlight Minho sees peeking out from behind them vanishes behind a cloud._

“Bad things will happen if you aren’t good,” _the man continues, voice turned sickly sweet with the threat._ “You wouldn’t want bad things to happen, now would you, little Elf?”

_Minho, for all that he has come to hate about himself, likes to think that he’s strong. He can take care of himself like most elflings cannot, has always relied on only himself to do so. He has survived the loneliness that eats away at him without reprieve. He thinks of the fading bruise on his cheek, of the way he had held his own. Rarely has Minho thought of himself as a child._

_(He thinks of the baby bird - so small and fragile with its hollow, delicate bones - that he had held in his palm.)_

_As he swallows down another batch of tears, hard and solid as they burn in his throat, Minho realizes that he is not as strong as he has always thought. That even if he doesn’t think it, he_ is _just_ _a child. What chance does he stand against a group of adults?_

_What chance has he ever stood against the world?_

_What has Minho ever been other than a fool?_

_He should do something, should prove everyone wrong, but-_

“Now would you?" _It's more insistent, the sweetness, however fake, falling away the minute Minho hesitates, and accompanied by a hand in his hair, wrenching his head back painfully._ "I asked you a question, Elf.” _The leader frowns angrily._ “When I ask you a question, you answer it. You should learn that lesson now, before you meet someone less _forgiving_ than me.”

_Say something. Say something._

_He can’t. Minho goes overwhelmingly numb and any thought of trying to fight back is squashed beneath the sudden blankness in his head._

_Anything. Anything. Anything._

“No,” _the disembodied voice barely sounds like his own, trembling with everything Minho is not._ “I will be good.”

_He gives in. Weak, weak, weak. Where is his strength now? Where is the fight he holds onto so desperately, keeping him alive? Where is the anger that he had spit at the elflings who had picked on him? Minho resists the urge to throw up._

“Good Elf.” _Praised like a dog. Minho hates it. He_ hates _it. His scalp burns as his hair is released._ “Tie its hands.” _He barely even processes the rope until it’s around his wrists (rough, scratchy; he’s sure it will leave sores) and then he tries his best to focus on it, to keep himself grounded as much he wants to let his mind escape._

“No gag?”

“No need,” _the leader laughs, shoving Minho’s shoulders as hard as he can. His legs crumple beneath him and he falls to the ground in a hard sit without any resistance._ “Look at it.” 

_Screaming, Minho has concluded, would do him no good. He’s too far from the village. Foolish. Foolish._

_Even if someone did hear him, would they even come? Would they even care? The village will probably celebrate his disappearance, finally rid of their bad omen._

_Only Yongbok would care. Only Yongbok would come. Minho cannot even begin to entertain that reality. That he, so happy and innocent, good and kind even to someone like Minho, would be captured…_

_Minho will take whatever will happen to him over that._

_And on the smallest chance that someone else did try to save him, Minho has no desire to find out what “bad things” will happen until they arrive._

_His mouth remains free, and some tiny part of him, still trying to cling to hope he does not have, cries out in victory._

_But the men poke and prod at him - with sticks and their fingers and even the tips of some of Minho’s broken arrows, - curiosity turned to greed in their eyes, listing off anything that comes to their mind as they look at him like something to dissect and study. Minho tries to shrink in on himself with every touch, eyes fixed firmly on the ground (moss and soft grass, flat where the men have stood, littered with remnants of his arrows) to avoid looking at his captors._

“Weird,” _they keep saying as they poke his ears - carefully, as though the soft points will cut them like thorns. Minho wishes they would._ “Weird.” _He isn’t weird. He’s barely different to them. Beneath the stares, he feels bare and exposed, sliced open like a fish so they can see how he works._

_(He almost wishes he was. Part of him thinks it would be a merciful end.)_

_Minho supposes he should get used to it._

“Get it up,” _the leader barks after he’s deemed the examination enough._ “The less time we spend in the woods the better. We’re only safe once we get out.” _As if to emphasize his point, a branch snaps loudly nearby and his head jerks towards the sound._

_But they’d made it in, hadn’t they? The only path in the kingdom leads to the palace, villages scattered and hidden purposefully within the dense trees and known only to Elves. Belatedly, Minho realizes that these Men should not be in the Forest at all, and certainly not this far. He should have known their intentions would not be good._

“Once we’re out, the Elves can do nothing to stop us.”

_(Elves die if their souls lose the will to endure. Minho wonders if being ripped from the Forest will cause his to.)_

_The wind comes again, cold as winter. This time, it does not stop. The echoes of snapping branches ring out in the trees._

“Get up.” _Someone shakes his shoulder roughly. Minho yanks it away reflexively and remains firmly planted on the ground._ “I said get up, brat.” _Minho grits his teeth against a hard kick to his shin and tries to make himself heavier when someone grabs his arms to pull him up, going boneless in an effort to stay seated._

_It doesn’t do much - he isn’t very big - but it does piss whoever is trying to right him off. The man drops him out of pure frustration and hits the back of his head hard enough to make Minho's head spin and his ears ring._

“Stand up, Elf.” _There’s the glint of a knife in his face and Minho tilts his head up to see a very stern and angry man. He doesn’t think the knife is just for show. As Minho’s shoulders slump in defeat, the man grabs him by the back of his tunic._ “We’re leaving.”

 _Now the wind positively howls, tearing through Minho’s hair and stinging at his eyes. It hammers at his ears and he tilts his head up to an ever darkening sky. The sharp_ crack! _of a falling branch starts murmurs among the Men._

_Minho cannot allow himself to be taken out of the Forest. The minute he leaves, he knows that he’ll never come back, knows that he will be broken. If it doesn't kill him, he'll wish it would. As the man holding the knife hauls him to his feet, his hand swings just a little too close to Minho and Minho makes a decision._

_He does the only thing he can think to do to have even the slimmest chance of escape: he throws his weight forward and bites down on the man’s hand as hard as he possibly can, eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of flesh under his teeth and the taste of iron touching his tongue._

_For a moment, it seems to work. Minho is released and he stumbles forward as a foul curse catches on the wind. But his sliver of hope is crushed the moment it blooms as the man grabs his shoulder and yanks him back. He smacks Minho across the face with dizzying force, and this time, Minho can’t stop the yelp of pain or the tears that spring to his eyes._

_Why had he thought this would work? Even if he could escape, where would he even go? The village? What kind of Elf would he be to lead the Men there?_

_When has hope ever done anything more than hurt him?_

_He only prays that his soul gives up as quickly as he does. Even death would be better than whatever his future holds._

“You little fucker!” _The man’s face contorts in rage unlike any Minho has seen and he flinches at the expletive - one that does not exist in Elvish but that has such hatred behind it that he understands clear as day._ "You vile little creature!" _A tiny line of blood trails down his hand and he raises it again as if to hit Minho once more. A flash of lightning illuminates the gray sky behind the man, and Minho cowers in fear._

“Don’t damage the goods!” _The leader yells, but it’s barely heard over the screaming wind._

_Maybe the man has forgotten the knife. Maybe he hasn’t and is too blinded by rage to care. Minho can’t even scream as it plunges into his side. Immediate, blinding pain blooms in him, unlike any he’s ever felt before. Suddenly, his lungs are desperately heavy, like he can’t get enough air as much as he tries._

“What are you doing?” _The leader snaps._ “I said not to damage the goods!” 

“It bit me!” _Minho slumps over the knife, supported only by his attacker pushing back against it. He cares not about the men anymore; trying to breathe his only focus._

“Just keep it alive. We’ll patch it up when we get out of here.” _A weak, thin cough breaks from Minho’s lips and with it a trickle of blood falls from his mouth. The sky goes almost black above them, thunder rumbling with threat. Tears leak from his eyes, warm against his freezing cheeks in contrast to the icy fear that floods his veins. Somewhere nearby a branch snaps, closer than ever before. It sounds more akin to something being stepped on than something in the trees. The men seem to realize this too, and then they look at Minho and seem to realize what they’ve done. Like it wishes to swallow them whole, the canopy looms overheard; dark and unfriendly as the incoming storm._

“We have to get out of here,” _the leader changes his tune abruptly. His eyes snap to Minho._ “Leave the Elf.”

“But you said-”

“Heaven’s sake, I said leave it!” _The leader shouts._ “If they catch us, we’re dead!” _There’s a searing pain as the knife is pulled out of Minho’s side. The man pushes him away, looks at the blade in a panic, drops it, and runs. Minho crumples to the ground. Alone._

_Afraid._

_The snapping of the branches has stopped and the wind continues to wail even as the men have left. No one comes to Minho’s rescue._

_Dying._

_Minho coughs again and more blood pours from his mouth, somehow more jarring to feel than the pool that soaks into the moss beneath him, warm and sticking his tunic to his skin. His breathing is shallow, every breath like fire in his lungs. More and more, it becomes difficult to see. Black creeps at the edges of his vision and that which he still can see is blurry through tears._

_Desperately afraid._

_(Minho does not want to die anymore.)_

_He sees nothing but the formless brown swatches of trees amongst blurred green. Then suddenly, a pale fox sitting a few feet away, haloed in soft light though there is no sun. Watching, waiting. It catches Minho’s dimming eyes with electrifying, unnaturally yellow eyes of its own._

_“Help me,” Minho says weakly, the words wet with blood and tears. “Please.” The fox tilts its head, then turns and trots away, and it is a cry to no one in particular. The patter of rain fills the forest, gentle at first, but growing stronger just as Minho grows weaker._

_(More so than dying, it is dying alone that scares him. That terrifies him.)_

_In all his lonely life, Minho has never felt so utterly alone as he does now._

_He has no one._

_He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to confront it._

_The storm above rages._

_There is no moment of peace._

_Minho dies, and suddenly there is just nothing._

  
  
  


It’s Hyunjin who comes to first, a sharp, sudden gasp torn from his mouth like he’s awoken from a nightmare and searches for breath. He tears his head away from Minho’s shoulder where it has been tucked and violently pulls back, staring at Minho with varying layers of shock and horror, cold fear and emptiness draining from his veins. Minho’s eyes are shut tightly, his teeth gritted, and his hand presses Felix’s head against his other shoulder as Felix’s body shakes. From here, Hyunjin can see the tears that wet his cheeks. His own are both hot and cold. When Hyunjin brings up a hand to brush at them, he realizes that he too is crying. 

“It’s not true.” He croaks out. Minho’s eyes open and Felix too is suddenly stirring, pulling his head away from Minho. He doesn’t back away, just looks at Minho despairingly. Gently, Minho pushes him away and makes a hard swallow. “It’s not possible.” Hyunjin’s voice is harsh, scratchy even in his throat. He refuses to believe this. Refuses.

Minho is silent as he hikes up his tunic and shirt, all the way until his ribs are visible. There, nestled firmly right in between the 6th and 7th ribs, is a visible white scar, more than an inch in length.

“You should be dead.” No. It hurts too much. Hyunjin’s tears burn. Why won’t they stop? “Why aren’t you dead?” Minho opens his mouth as if to say something, then lets his face fall with a pained exhale. He turns around and Hyunjin sees the arrows that creep up his spine into the bunched fabric of his tunic. He doesn’t need to see anything more.

“I am Blessed,” Minho says quietly, as if that answers anything. Hyunjin clenches his teeth so tightly he worries that they might crack.

“You’re a liar.” He snaps, angrier than he’s ever been. No matter what truth there is, if there even is a _stupid, useless truth_ , it changes nothing. If Minho really is Blessed, he lied before. If he isn’t, then he’s lying now. Why does he spit in the face of the Blessed, make a mockery of their name? Why does he spit in Hyunjin's? Minho flinches as he turns back around, face full of hurt as he looks at him. 

How dare he.

“Hyunjin, I-”

“Shut up, Minho!” Minho has never looked at him like this before. “Just shut up! All you have ever done is lie to me!”

“Hyunjin-” Minho breathes desperately, drowning even in the open air. 

“Am I supposed to believe anything that comes out of your mouth?”

“Stop-”

“I don’t, all right? I don’t believe you!” He and Minho stare at each other for a silent, frozen moment, both of them taking shaky breathes, but for utterly different reasons. The ghost of Felix’s fingers rest on Hyunjin’s shoulder, his tears still running freely as he has turned to search Hyunjin’s face.

“Hyunjin.” It is soft as a feather and floats between them, unfinished and unresolved. 

Hyunjin is yanked away by the back of his tunic, away from Felix’s constant gentleness.

“Get _out!”_ Jeongin’s eyes blaze as he glares at Hyunjin, voice hard and sharp as diamonds. He pushes forward until he blocks Minho from view. Hyunjin stands his ground.

“How can you expect anyone to believe you, to believe this utter _nonsense_?” He continues with no less anger.

“I said get out!” Jeongin glances at Minho behind him, face crumbling for a brief moment before it is challenging Hyunjin with the most expression he has ever shown.

“Has _anything_ been the truth, Minho?”

“ _Leave_!” Hyunjin almost feels like an invisible force has pushed him back as Jeongin looks to kill him with just his eyes. “You speak of things you do not understand! You know not what it is Minho has done for you!” Jeongin seethes. “So shut your damn mouth and get out!” Hyunjin makes a frustrated growl in the back of his throat, then whirls around and stalks out of the room, the storm cloud over his head darker than ever. 

Then it is just Felix that remains, silent and overwhelmed as he looks at Minho, forehead leaning against the back of Jeongin's neck, eyes shut, breathing unsteady. 

His friend. 

Of new.

Of old.

Scared and alone while his life was ripped away from him, while he was ripped away from Felix. 

He had lied to Felix too, but it doesn't make him angry. Not like it does Hyunjin. It shouldn't be real - the dead do not return - but…

It felt too real to be a trick, too painful for a false memory. 

It had not been Minho's choice.

Felix chokes back a sob, vision obscured by tears until it's just Minho, Minho, Minho. Young and full of life, laughing as he teased Felix. Still and cold as a stone, alone in the bitter end. Eyes fragile and full of terror as he holds the knife over Felix's throat. 

_"Maybe it will never be all right."_

Felix hadn't even known. He had forgotten, had forsaken Minho's memory and let him be lost to time forever. As much as the idea of Minho running away had hurt, the pain of this is tenfold. Minho hadn't _wanted_ to leave.

How could it ever be all right? 

"Minho," he whispers tenuously, fingers shaking as he reaches towards Minho. "Oh, Minho, I'm…" 

He doesn't know. He doesn't know what he is, what to say. 

"Felix, stop." Jeongin's voice has turned low, almost gentle. His jaw is still tense, but a significant amount of his fire has been bitten back, only his eyes smoldering like the remains of one. Minho's mouth moves behind him, but no sound comes out, the message solely for Jeongin as it is murmured against his skin. Whatever it is, Jeongin makes no indication that he cares. 

"Have you not done enough?" He asks Felix in an oddly soft, incredulous voice. Minho's eyes open, head tilting up just enough to look at Felix. That same glassy, fragile look as the one burned into Felix's memory is reflected now. 

"I…" 

"Go, Felix." Jeongin tells him. "Let there be no more pain tonight.” Minho’s hand threads into his and squeezes gently. “Please,” he adds quietly, squeezing back, “just go.”

(Felix and Hyunjin fall into fitful sleep, doomed to watch Minho die just out of their reach, doomed to watch him stare right through them as he begs to no one for help. They wake to pain unlike any other, like their lungs are being destroyed from the inside out, and can do nothing but scream and curl up in pain. Chan and Naeun can find no cause, and though they force their magic out until they are sweaty and exhausted, their healing may as well be useless. 

Minho does not even visit.

The pain lasts all day and well into the night and only then does it break and bring tears of relief as Hyunjin and Felix stare at the dark ceilings of their respective rooms and catch all the breath they could not.

The Men leave empty handed; no agreement is reached. It brings more relief to them than perhaps it should.)

  
  


Inexplicably, Hyunjin and Felix both find themselves outside Minho’s door the following day, so caught up in their own thoughts that they don’t even realize it until they come face to face. Soft, muffled voices drift from beyond the door and they share a look before leaning in.

Eavesdropping is wrong, but then, so is lying. 

“-ome without you.” This is Jeongin, but not the rigid one that they know. He sounds comfortable, relaxed - the same clarity to his voice as always, but with nothing barbed or sharp.

“What will you do then? You have no great love for this realm.” Minho’s voice is far away, comes from deeper in the room than Jeongin’s. “You made no promise. If I am all that keeps you here, then you should leave. It will not be looked upon kindly should you disobey.”

“Jisung is still here.”

“Not for much longer, I should think. His mission is at an end, as is his time. You should return home when he does.”

“He will stay if I ask. He worries too, Minho. We will not leave you here alone.” Minho doesn’t respond to this.

“It is coming,” he says instead. “I can feel it.”

“Mm.” Short and punctuated, as though spoken through a nod. Soft footsteps. “Do you want to face them?”

“Mm.” The door swings open before Hyunjin and Felix can back away and Jeongin glares at them. 

“You should breathe more quietly if you wish to eavesdrop,” he says in lieu of a greeting, back to his usual dry, cutting voice. His eyes narrow at Hyunjin. “Consider yourself lucky that you are you and that Minho is a far more forgiving elf than I am.”

“Leave them be, Jeongin. I do not need you to scare them,” Minho calls from somewhere behind him.

“Oh, believe me, they are not nearly as scared of me as they should be,” Jeongin mutters, but he gives the both of them a stiff nod and lets them pass. Then, like the mere idea of being in the same room as them is repulsive, he marches out and the door clicks shut behind him. 

Minho’s room has the same untouched look that it had had just a few days ago when Felix had visited, save slightly rumpled sheets from where someone has been sitting on the bed. Minho is on his balcony, sat on the balustrade with one knee up and the other leg hanging off the side. It’s the sort of precarious thing Hyunjin and Felix would never do, too afraid to fall and heads full of warnings from their parents. Minho stares out at the trees, crested in the fiery colors of fall. Today, he wears no visible weapons - his quiver and bow are nestled in a chair, his sword propped against the wall. 

It’s just Minho. 

When he turns his head to look at his visitors, there is none of the kaleidoscope of emotion from before. He gives them a small smile and his eyes crinkle, just a bit, but some of his old, guarded neutralness has returned. The smile falls just as quickly as it had broken.

“We should talk,” he says carefully, delicately, like he’s walking a thin tightrope.

“Will you come inside?” Hyunjin asks, swallowing nerves as he watches Minho rock his leg aimlessly, the side of his boot tapping against the railing. Minho tilts his head at him, but complies, swinging his leg over the balustrade and hopping onto solid ground.

“I expect you have questions.” That carefulness remains and Minho stops a few feet away from Felix and Hyunjin, eyes never resting on them for more than a heartbeat. 

“I’m sorry.” Tears from the other night form in Felix’s throat again, cracking in his voice. Minho’s brows pinch.

“None of that, Felix.” He speaks softly, closing the gap between them without a second thought and wiping Felix’s still dry cheeks with his thumbs. “There is nothing for you to be sorry about. There never has been.” The wind is knocked out of him as Felix hugs him tightly, hugs him like he would have that day if he’d known that it would be Minho’s last. Minho returns it more gingerly, a hand scratching the back of Felix’s head. “I am sorry for lying to you,” he murmurs. Over Felix’s shoulder, he and Hyunjin make eye contact and Minho’s face drops minutely.

“I shouldn’t have been so angry with you.” Hyunjin’s gaze drops to the ground, his face burning. “I shouldn’t have called you a liar.”

“But I am.” Minho sucks in a breath as he pulls away from Felix. “If it makes you happier, I will forever be one for you.”

“Why would that ever make me happier?”

Minho is silent for a long moment. “Even if you believe all my words are false, know that my heart never has been.” 

“Minho?” Hyunjin’s brows furrow at him. A hand gestures to the bed and Minho gently nudges Felix over to it. The three of them sit, stiff and unsure, Minho’s fingers catching the sheets and running a nail against them.

“What do you know about the Blessed?” He asks, mostly directing the question at Hyunjin. 

“They defend good in the world,” Hyunjin tells him matter-of-factly. “They were born special; endowed with prodigious skill and such pure hearts that they are chosen to serve in Light’s name and are blessed with the power to do so. They come from the Kingdom of Light, and are everywhere and nowhere, but they’re supposed to be good luck if you see them. It means the Light might favor you as well.” He glances at Felix, staring intently at the sheets. “Felix thinks it’s silly. I always thought that one day, if I could find them…” Hyunjin frowns a little. “I wanted to be able to protect all the good as well.”

“Good…” Minho murmurs. His fingers bunch into a fist, before he sighs and relaxes. “You could never be Blessed, Hyunjin,” he says, not unkindly. "If nothing else, you are loved too much." It’s more strained than anything, but Hyunjin’s stomach knots anyway. 

“I know I’m nothing special. You don’t have to rub it in.”

“You think I was?” Minho lets out one beat of an airy laugh. “I could shoot well. Nothing more. Just ask Felix.” Hyunjin turns to him, a heavy frown on his face.

“Minho is the boy from my dreams,” Felix whispers sheepishly, refusing to look at Hyunjin. “I’ve known since we left the Kingdom Beneath the Stars.”

“And that he was Blessed?” Felix nods slowly. “You hid all that from me?” Hyunjin can feel thin threads in his heart snapping, his throat growing tight. With all his anger exhausted from the other day, hurt is all he has left. Especially because this is Felix. 

“Because of me,” Minho cuts in. “He hid it because of me.”

“But _why?”_ Hyunjin asks.

“We are not born special,” Minho sighs. “We are not pure of heart. We are just orphans - elflings dealt a bad hand and forced to suffer for things that were not our fault, killed long before we should have been. We mean little to the world, leave little mark even in death, and, without such ties to preserve our memories, are easy to erase.” Felix lifts his head very suddenly, brow pinched in alarm. “We are not chosen out of favor, but pity. If children are meant to be precious to Elves, they are even more so to gods. So we are saved, given a choice to forgive and allow our souls to pass on, or to rid ourselves of our resentments and pledge ourselves to the Light for a second chance.”

Minho rolls up his sleeve to reveal the burn on his forearm to Hyunjin, who stares at it with too many emotions to name, pulling Minho’s arm closer and running his thumb over the skin. “Your soul breaks when you die,” Minho continues in a soft voice. “And a large piece of you is lost forever. You lose sensation and strength." He swallows, eyes flicking up to gauge Hyunjin and Felix's reactions before returning to bore a hole in his arm. "Our souls are made of stars, right? Sometimes… sometimes, even with the countless stars in the sky, two souls can be born of the same. Until we find a matching half, we live off resentment and however much light - the magic that allows the Blessed to exist - our bodies can handle. Many who are saved never do.” Minho’s jaw tightens, just for a moment. “But such things cannot last forever, and only when we complete the soulbond do we become truly powerful; only a whole soul can withstand the light needed to become Blessed. To be Bonded is to feel the pain the other does not, to know their heart, to hold each other's very existence in your hands.”

“Jeongin?” The name wavers between them; Hyunjin already knows the answer.

“Jeongin,” Minho confirms. “We have been Bound for over half a century.”

“But you…” Felix shakes his head abruptly. “It’s been nearly 90 years.”

“We were not Bound until after Jeongin’s 50th.” Minho lays a hand over Hyunjin’s, over the scar. “Children cannot handle so much light.” His eyes drift towards the door, brows pinching ever so slightly. “It would have destroyed him,” he says quietly, unexplained guilt ebbing at his voice like a rising tide. The tide pulls back as he swallows it and he shakes his head as if to free himself from the thought.

“Did he…” 

“Die?” Minho finishes flatly. Felix nods. “He would not be Blessed if he had not.”

“Jisung?” Hyunjin asks with a hard swallow. This time it's who Minho nods. "How?" 

"It is not my place to tell." His hand squeezes Hyunjin's, just a little. "I can only tell you of the life that I lost." Minho looks between the two of them, searching the myriad of emotions that swim in their eyes. "What more do you wish to know?" 

"When you screamed..." Hyunjin wonders if his fingers will leave an imprint from where they have wrapped around Minho's wrist, "about Jeongin… was that because of the- the soulbond?" A single dip of Minho’s head. "What happened to him?" 

"He and Seungmin were attacked," Minho says as flippantly as if they were discussing the weather. The jagged line, the bolt of lightning on Seungmin’s skin, burns before Hyunjin’s eyes. "He saved Seungmin, but was stabbed in the process and was badly hurt.” For all his nonchalance, Minho’s voice tightens, if only for a moment. “He lost a great deal of light very quickly."

"But you were stabbed," Felix says quietly, fingers pressing hard against his legs. "You took that arrow. You were okay." 

"There are worse things than plain old steel." At this, Minho makes a pained grimace. 

"The arrow through your heart?" The image flashes back to Hyunjin, the sickening sound as it had flown through flesh and broken through bone. He closes his eyes and tries to will it away, swallowing bile as he recalls the smell of blood, the feeling as it had spattered and hit his face. Minho had said it had missed; Hyunjin doubts that now more than ever.

"You cannot kill what is already dead." Minho laughs, devoid of humour but rather blasé about the whole thing. 

"But you're not-" Felix makes a fist, nails digging into his palms. "You're not _dead._ " 

"No," Minho sighs, tilting his head up to the ceiling. "I suppose I am not. But I am not alive either." 

"So what-" 

"I am neither dead nor alive, no longer an Elf like you nor a higher being. I am the gray area in between what is black and white. I do not know what I am other than a purpose, a means to an end." Why is that same ache from his childhood in this? "Perhaps I am no more than a god's will. Perhaps I am nothing at all." 

"Don't say that." Hyunjin's voice is barely audible, spoken more to Minho's arm than to him. Gently, his fingers are pried away from the skin and Minho runs a thumb over his knuckles as if to soothe him. "You could never be nothing, Minho. Not to us. Not to me." 

"You never were." Felix blinks against old memories. The wavering smiles of their youth, the soft firelight dusting the bruise on Minho's cheek, the thin defeat soaked in unshed tears. Minho's mouth pulls tight with an unknown emotion, something too bitter to be sadness and too accepting to be bitterness. As if what he says is just the truth of the matter, not a search for reassurance. "You were always something to me. Always." The corners of Minho's lips drop when Felix takes his free hand and holds it as though it is the baby bird from his dream. He looks poised on the verge of saying something, but words stay stuck in his mouth and Minho just exhales instead, his fingers going slack against Hyunjin's. Silence gnaws at them like a dog a bone, picking at them for so long it becomes uncomfortable. Hyunjin's fingers fidget, muddled feelings practically radiating off him, heavy in the brittle air. 

"My heart has always been true," Minho says quietly, in tandem with Hyunjin moving to stand. He does not stop him, just lets Hyunjin's hand fall away from his. His sleeve falls, and Hyunjin stares at the remnants of the scar that poke out from under it before he turns away sharply. 

"It's too much." His voice is wobbly, unusually lacking in confidence. 

"You do not have to believe me." 

"I…" Hyunjin's hand rests on the door handle. "I need time." 

Minho puts up no fight as Hyunjin leaves, watching him go with an all too blank face, carefully constructed and painstakingly deliberate. 

“He’ll come around,” Felix tells him in a soft voice. “It’s just not what he knows.”

“I am surprised you have not followed him.” Minho speaks with control, like he’s afraid of what will lace his words if he does not. For all his nonchalance, it cannot be so easy for him to talk about this. Not when he has spent moons pressing it so tightly to his chest. “You who does not believe.” Nonetheless, his eyes are dark and apprehensive when he looks at Felix, as infinite as the galaxy. He seems to wish to find himself in Felix’s face. 

“I don’t want it to be true,” Felix admits. His stomach twists into knots and his hand shakes a little. “I don’t want that to have happened to you, Minho.” This time, when his tears begin to fall, Minho lets them. “I can’t have lost you like that. If I accept it, I have to accept that you-” He catches himself abruptly because if he says it then he knows he must face it head on. 

“That I died,” Minho says for him, wiping Felix’s cheek with his sleeve. There’s a hint of chiding to it, a sort of encouragement. Felix wonders if Minho has grown used to the words, to speaking of death as his past and present rather than his future, like it should have been. He wonders how long it took for the words to become so easy.

“But if the memory hurts you so much,” Felix takes a deep breath, “I don’t think you could make it up. And you’re here.” He squeezes Minho’s hand a little. “You’re real. There is no explanation that I could come up with to make sense of that, so… so…” Even as his stomach churns, even as cold settles in his chest, something in Felix eases. The past few days have turned everything on its head and only now does he feel as though he is relearning how to keep his balance. “If nothing else, I believe you.” He pulls Minho forward so he can hug him. “I believe you, Minho.” Felix lets himself return to the damp earth of a reborn forest, to skin warmed by the summer sun, to nights spent looking at the stars. He lets himself return to the hurt and confusion, the ache of not knowing, and he lets it accept the things it once would not. This part of Felix, buried as it is, will always believe Minho, will always believe the elfling, bright as the north star. 

When this part of Felix accepts, he loses the all too desperate hold he has had on a younger Minho. He slips through Felix's fingers like dust in the wind and finally melts away from the Minho who holds Felix like he fears losing him. 

When this part of Felix accepts and gains the closure and finality he never got, the rest of Felix can accept it as well. He can believe without his childhood heart, can believe not a long gone Minho, but this one. 

"The Men who killed you-" it is heavy and tastes like iron in his mouth, but Felix forces himself to say it, to become okay with it. He pulls away from Minho, voice soft and serious. "- what happened to them?" 

"They have long since died." Of course they have; it has been nearly a century. That's not what Felix means and Minho knows that.

"They were not punished for their crimes?" Felix searches Minho's face carefully, unsure of how thin the line he treads is, how painful the subject. Minho's expression darkens. 

"Not by the Elves," he murmurs, eyes flicking down to his side. He offers nothing else, but Felix can understand the implication. He doesn't press more, instead poking Minho's forehead to rid it of the crease that has formed. Minho's eyes widen in surprise, the darkness fading from them. Felix's head falls forward and he thuds it lightly against Minho's. 

“You didn’t want to leave.” Felix’s voice is so quiet it is barely audible, threadbare and aching in his throat.

“No,” Minho whispers back, “I did not.”

The circumstances that have reunited them are impossible to rectify; they can never be justified or rationalized. There are no words to smooth their ugly nature and make them into something palatable. Not for Felix, not for Minho. So Felix does not try to.

"Maybe things can be okay," he says softly, "if only for this moment. I don't have the power to change what happened or to make you forget, and I cannot predict what the future holds. But I hope right now, you can feel that things are all right." His eyes close as if to turn the moment infinite, and if he hears something catch in Minho's throat, he says nothing of it.

  
  


Hyunjin watches the sun creep along his desk, an old, well loved book open in front of him, one arm outstretched and asleep beneath his head. The words run together like this, the fine lines of the illustration on the opposite page all too flat and clustered together to make sense of. But then, Hyunjin has memorized it, just as he has memorized the text, practically word for word. What do either of those things matter now? Now, when the words must stand up to Minho’s, when Hyunjin’s lifelong beliefs have proven real, but not in the way he wanted them to. The book can’t explain away what Minho has said, and it doesn’t bring Hyunjin the comfort it had when he had been an elfling.

Back then, the world had felt so simple, so easy to understand, made up of clear opposites. Day and night, love and hate, good and bad. There was no need to consider the blended colors in between. Hyunjin is a Prince Beneath the Sun, and so night mattered not. Hyunjin has parents who nurtured and cared for him like a sprout, who treasure him now even as he blooms, a brother who, for all his teasing, has always adored Hyunjin. For years he had only known love, had only given it, and so hate had mattered not. Hyunjin had been a child, innocent as all are, surrounded by safety and warmth and good, and so bad had mattered not, had been little more than some vague construct. 

Hyunjin had come to understand bad when he was 20. Bad had been the Elves who had killed the princess of the Silver Wood, a mere newborn at the time, so young she had not even been named yet. Bad had been the Elves who turned their attention to the Kingdom Beneath the Sun and threatened Minhyun's life. Minhyun, who Hyunjin idolized like no one else, who would read to him and tell him stories of all the heroes of old and tell Hyunjin that he was destined to be great. 

Minhyun, who had been the first to introduce Hyunjin to the myths of the Blessed, for they had been his favorites when he was an elfling. 

(Minhyun, who Hyunjin wishes he could go to now and curl up in his lap like when he had been an elfling and Minhyun had been able to solve all his problems and answer all his questions. Back then, he had seemed like the smartest elf in the whole wide world.)

Hyunjin had been too young to do anything for his brother, but he had wanted to, though the threats had turned out to be empty. Had wanted to with everything he had. He would be the good to fight off all the bad in the world, the good to protect his older brother and in turn their kingdom.

It's not that simple anymore, he knows that. Even a villain thinks they're a hero. 

Maybe it's naive, but Hyunjin still so desperately believes in good, wants desperately to believe in a pure soul.

Even if it is not his.

Outside, the clanging of swords can be heard. Occasionally, a cheer or whistle can be heard. Sometimes a yelp that is always from Seungmin or Felix, or clapping when Hyunjin assumes something particularly impressive has happened. There’s a gnawing in his stomach, something that tells him that he’s being a bad host for not being there with Seungmin, but it would mean he has to be with Minho. It’s too soon; the thought of talking to him makes Hyunjin want to rid the contents of his bland breakfast from his stomach. And he wants to do it alone, without Seungmin, or even Felix, and certainly without Jeongin. 

He has to do it alone. 

There’s an interlude in the clashing of metal. Hyunjin groans and rolls his head to rest face first in the book. The clashing returns, louder this time, more intense. 

Hyunjin doesn’t know what he’s meant to do. He pulls himself in all too many directions like he’s putty, now melting in his own hands. But Minho is unbending as iron and Hyunjin is unable to fit him into the narrative he knows, unable to conceive that the goodness he believes in can be born from such dark circumstances. Minho acts like it’s so _normal_. Dying is a mere fact of the matter; even if it hurts sometimes, it’s okay. Having such power merely out of pity… 

No, that’s not it. Hyunjin won’t accept that. It’s not an unfortunate chance. Minho is special. He cannot be the only one who believes that, who knows that. 

“Hey.” Gently, a book taps against the top of his head and Hyunjin looks up miserably at Seungmin. His hair sticks to his forehead and his skin has a sheen of drying, cold sweat to it. He smiles neutrally. “Missed you out there.”

“Sorry,” Hyunjin sighs, resting his cheek against the cool page of the book. “I’ve not been a very good host this time.”

“I don’t mind.” Seungmin shrugs and as his shoulders fall, Hyunjin’s eyes linger on his neck. Jeongin. Died. Dead. Alive. Bonded. Minho. “I know my way around well enough, and I can entertain myself. I’m all right with Felix and Minhyun too, so it’s not like you left me dead in the water.”

Dead. Dying. Alive. Not alive. Not dead. 

“Glad you’re feeling better though.” True. False. “Do you know what it was?”

The knife as it pierced through lung; pain to excruciatingly real to be a trick. “No.” Hyunjin shakes his head as best he can from this angle. “No idea.”

 _“You do not have to believe me.”_

But he does, doesn’t he? There is one unalienable truth about Minho, one unalienable truth about Hyunjin that he has known for some time; the unalienable truth that makes this hurt so much. Surely Minho knows it too.

“Hey, Seungmin?” Hyunjin raises his head with a sigh, tilting it this way and that to loosen the stiff muscles in his neck. A soft hum buzzes in Seungmin’s throat in response, and Hyunjin stands to approach the balcony. He looks out over the training grounds, down at Minho and Jeongin in the midst of a dangerous dance. Minho moves entirely unlike how he does when he and Hyunjin spar, as though that had been nothing but child’s play to him. Both he and Jeongin move with distinct power, the ringing of their swords loud and clear, their faces etched with focus. They’re almost blinding to look at, the setting sun catching on their swords and flashing it in Hyunjin’s eyes.

“What would you do if you found out someone had been lying to you?” He asks. “About something big - something you don’t know if you can believe.”

“Hm.” There’s soft footsteps as Seungmin comes to stand just behind Hyunjin, joining him in watching their guards fight. He’s level-headed, never one to act or speak rashly. It had annoyed Hyunjin when they’d been younger; now he thinks it’s probably Seungmin’s strongest asset. “I suppose it depends.”

“On?”

“Lots of things.” Seungmin pauses in thought. “There’s no right or wrong way to react; you’re allowed to feel however you feel.”

Hyunjin’s eyes follow Minho as he moves. “So is the liar.”

“You cannot choose your feelings, but to believe is an active choice you must make. So I think I would care about why they lied,” Seungmin continues, “but mostly I’d care who it was. People who love you usually don’t lie because they want to hurt you.” Minho’s head turns towards Hyunjin’s balcony abruptly and he falters. Jeongin disarms him in a flash, a frown on his face as Minho’s attention returns to him. “It's easier to trust and choose the people you love. It’s easier to forgive them. It’s easier to believe the unbelievable with them.” Hyunjin turns away from the scene in front of him to look at Seungmin. “Not every lie is something against you, Hyunjin,” Seungmin tells him gently. “If you build up your expectations so high, then you will only ever watch everyone around you fall and hurt you when they fail to meet them.”

 _Do you not think you should be honest before you expect anyone else to be_ , a voice that sounds awfully like Minho asks. Hyunjin shakes his head sharply to rid himself of it. “I want to believe in the good in others,” he mumbles.

“And I admire that.” Seungmin places a hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder, eyes earnest. “But this doesn't have to be related.” When it becomes clear Hyunjin has no intention of responding, he sighs. “Look, at the end of the day, you should do what you think is best. If it does not bring you peace, then you have made the wrong decision. Follow your heart, Hyunjin; you've always been good at that. I should think it holds the answers you cannot come to.” Around them, the room burns in dim orange. Seungmin squeezes Hyunjin’s shoulder gently, a playful smile on his face. “For now, we can follow my stomach; I’m starving.” Hyunjin rolls his eyes and swats at Seungmin, but nonetheless lets their hands be linked together and lets Seungmin drag him out of his room as the sunlight around them dies.

Dead. Alive. Minho.

A sun simultaneously setting and rising. Minho.

False. Minho.

Truth. Minho.

Minho.

Night has settled heavily across the kingdom when Hyunjin leaves his room in search of him. The halls are empty and cold. Through the windows, he can see only thick, soupy fog as it catches the thin, waning moonlight. It doesn’t matter. Somehow, he knows where to go, feet taking him without a second thought. The dewy, overgrown grass brushes the hem of his cloak as Hyunjin steps out into the courtyard between Felix’s room and the library, empty and rarely used. There, he stops, fog too thick to see even a foot in front of him. It’s cold as it curls around him, heavy like a knit blanket on his shoulders. It clings to his hair and skin and absorbs the white puffs of air as he breathes out. Then, haloed in soft, pale light, Minho stands before him, ghostly and ethereal all at once. The fog is unable to swallow him and instead, it encases the two of them in a world all their own. Minho stares at Hyunjin with drawn brows, no single emotion clear enough for him to pinpoint. 

Hyunjin stares at him with the heavy fog in his throat, frozen in the chilly air.

“Minho.” It only takes a breath to break the silence, but it feels like far more.

“Hyunjin?” Minho’s voice is quiet, more unsure than Hyunjin has ever heard it. He steps back when Hyunjin reaches for him and Hyunjin’s heart leaps to his throat as the unsureness grips him as well.

“I… I don’t care that you lied,” Hyunjin begins softly. “Well, I do, but… I care about you more than I care about that.” Minho continues to stare at him, just out of reach. Emboldened, Hyunjin steps forward and his hands come to frame Minho’s face gently. They tremble, but not with cold. Sparks of warmth alight beneath his hands, golden stars in his blood. “I care too much not to believe you.” Minho’s eyes are wide, searching Hyunjin’s face. He pulls away sharply and Hyunjin’s heart sinks. Minho doesn’t say anything for a long time, mouth just opening and closing like he can never find the right words.

“Say it without touching me,” he eventually says weakly, “I do not… I do not want there to be a chance I cause you to feel something you do not mean.” 

“I forgive you. I will believe you.” Hyunjin pauses. “I care about you with all my heart.” It’s still quiet, but it’s stronger this time. He laces his fingers with Minho’s and gently presses their foreheads together. This time, Minho doesn’t pull back. “I know this by my own soul.”

“You should not,” Minho says, voice pained. Still, he doesn’t move, like his head and his heart tell him two different things and he cannot settle the battle between them. “You should not care. I am not like you and Felix. I am not worth it.”

“I know you’re not like us,” Hyunjin murmurs. “It does not matter to me. I don’t care about any of that; I just care about you.” On some level, Hyunjin figures Minho has known. On some level, he has figured that Minho is much the same. Why should it be different just because he has put his words to his feelings?

“You do not understand,” Minho whispers. 

“Do I not get to decide who is worth my love, Minho?” Minho stiffens and pulls back, eyes wider than even before and flashing with doubt, but Hyunjin looks at him with conviction.

“But I am not.” The insistence is weak, half-hearted at best, but it aches with pain. Why does Minho do this if it’s not what he wants? “I will only hurt you, before the end.”

“You won’t.”

“I am temporary,” Minho practically pleads, “fleeting. You will not feel like this forever.”

“Everyone is temporary.” Hyunjin tires to hide his growing confusion and the hurt in his heart.

“Not like me.”

“Even if it’s only for a little while, I-”

“It will hurt you.” Minho cups Hyunjin’s face with the greatest of care. His hands are colder than Hyunjin is used to, like a bitter spring. Minho looks desperately sad. “Hyunjin, you should not love me.”

“Is it because of Jeongin?” Hyunjin asks tenuously. He places his hands over Minho’s, rubbing them to try and return some warmth. Minho’s brows pinch.

“Do not bring him into it. This is not his fault.”

“But you love him,” Hyunjin shoots back. “Is that why-”

“That is different. Jeongin is different.” Minho’s voice drops into something so soft that Hyunjin has to strain to hear it, as though he says something that he should not. “I do not love him the way I love you, Hyunjin.” 

The world seems to stop between them. 

“Minho…” 

The rustling of leaves in the wind starts it again.

“I cannot stay forever,” Minho tells him, brows pinched and eyes swimming with hurt Hyunjin can’t figure out the origin of. “I cannot stay with you. If you truly feel like this then you will only be hurt by-”

“I don’t care.” Hyunjin cuts him off and presses his head against Minho’s once again. “I don’t. I told you, even if it’s only for a little while, it’s okay. It’s enough. Maybe you will leave, but the you in my memories will always remain.”

 _“Until you forget.”_ It’s carried on a breeze, so quiet Hyunjin barely realizes that he’s heard it. It isn't Minho who says it, but his voice is twisted into one that comes from nowhere and everywhere all at once. But he won’t forget. Not Minho.

The bitter spring crawls sluggishly through his veins, weak warmth where it had once been so strong.

Never Minho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not to sound like a golden retriever on main but I gain +10 brain power every time someone comments I love you all <3


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